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1 


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A1 


s> 


: 


ur  iiDiyrf  r 


WORK  AND  WAGES: 


OB. 


LIFE  IN  SERVICE. 


A    CONTINUATION   OF   "LITTLE   COIN,    MUCH  CABB* 


f    .-•■-- 

■'•  ■   _ 


BY  MARY  HOWITT, 

AUTHOR    OF 

■miTIiHDTHRIVl/'    "hOPEOn!    HOPE    K  \  K  K  !  "    "   SOW  I  N  O   A  N  D    R  ■  API*©,* 

*"WHO    SHALL   BB    GEEATI9T?"   "WHICH    IS   THK    WHKlf" 

"LITTLS    COIN,    MUCH    CABK,"    &C.  &C. 


NEW- YORK : 
D.    A  P  P  L  E  T  O  X    &    COMPANY, 

346    &    848    BROADWAY. 
M.DCCO.LVI. 


PR 

Wo.  u/rr 

WORK   AND   WAGES; 

OR, 

LIFE   IN   SERVICE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

>WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-SERVANT.' 

NkVer  in  this  world  was  servant-s:irl  more  tired  than 
was  fhe^MfssrCotterills'  Peggy  on  that  Thursday  after* 
noon  which  concluded  her  servitude  with  them.  Every 
room  in  the  house,  and  every  corner  of  every  room, 
had  now  been  thoroughly  cleaned.  Peggy  had  lived 
only  six  weeks  with  the  Miss  Cotterills,  and  the  same 
operations  had  been  performed  by  her  predecessor  be- 
fore her  arrival.  The  house  did  not  want  this  cleaning 
— so  the  Miss  Cotterillsthemselves  said — but  then  it  was 
a  penance  they  demanded  from  every  servant  before 
leaving,  and  why  should  Peggy  be  exempted,  though 
she  did  complain  so  much  of  that  pain  in  her  right 
knee,  when  she  went  down  on  her  knees  to  scour? 
No — Pegery,  they  said,  was  afraid  of  work,  and  they 
never  would  break  through  a  good  rule.  So  the  house 
was  cleaned  from  top  to  bottom,  every  carpet  taken  up, 
and  every  floor  scoured;  and  poor  Peggy,  who  had  an 
incipient  white  swelling,  had  thus  her  terrible  com- 
plaint confirmed.  But  what  a  beautifully  clean  house 
was  the   Miss  Cotterills'!     Every  piece  of  earthen- 


4       WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-l  ERVANt! 

ware  and  china  had  been  carefully  washed  ;  every 
article  of  tin,  brass,  and  copper  elaborately  scoured 
and  polished,  even  to  the  thirty-years-old  tea-kettle, 
which,  having  had  three  holes  in  it  for  the  last  ten 
years,  served  now  only  for  show,  whilst  the  parlour 
coal-scuttle,  a  sort  of  household  idol,  shone  in  its  corner 
as  if  made  of  red  gold.  All  this  being  done,  Peggy 
sate  down  on  the  clean  kitchen  hearth,  tired  and 
spiritless:  she  had  not  got  another  place,  and  her  home, 
which  was  governed  by  a  step-father,  was  a  joyless  one 
to  return  to. 

Pesrgy  sate  down,  and  determined  with  herseU  that 
for  thefuture  she  never  would  take  service  with  single 
ladies  again:  they  were  so  exact,  so  suspicious;  tbey 
hail  nothing  to  do  but  to  peep  about  and  pry  into 
everything^  and,  if  they  miscounted  the  lumps  of  sugar 
in  the  sugar-basin,  they  were  sure  to  say  you  had 
taken  some;  and  if  you  did  carry  hot  water  into  your 
miserably  cold  bed-room  in  a  stone  bottle,  to  warm 
your  poor  feet  in  bed,  didn't  they  say  you  had  taken 
into  your  bed-room  a  bottle  of  beer  to  drink  ?  and  if 
you  did  chance  to  have  a  little  brooch  given  you  by  a 
friend,  or  a  pink  ribbon  which  you  had  made  into  loops 
for  your  Sunday  bonnet-cap,  were  not  they  sure,  some 
day  or  other,  when  you  were  out,  to  go  and  rummage 
among  your  things,  and  find  them,  and  then  fly  into 
your  very  face  with  them  the  moment  you  entered  the 
house,  taking  you  so  by  surprise  that  you  had  not  a 
word  to  say  for  yourself! 

No;  poorPeggy  resolved  that  she  never  would  live 
again  with  a  couple  of  single  ladies;  and,  if  she  could 
only  get  speech  of  the  new  servant  this  evening,  she 
would  tell  her,  as  sure  as  she  was  alive,  what  sort  of 
people  she  was  going  to  live  with.  Perhaps  the  Miss 
Cotterills  suspected  something  of  this  kind;  for,  no 
sooner  had  Peggy  formed  this  determination  than  the 


WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-SERVANT.        5 

elder  of  the  two  walked  into  the  kitchen,  and,  seeing 
Peggy  sitting  by  the  fire  with  her  hands  on  her  knees, 
inquired  what  in  the  world  she  meant,  by  doing  so? 
Was  it  not  then  four  o'clock?  and  had  she  not  been 
ordered  to  be  off  by  five?  While  Miss  Cotterill  was 
thus  speaking,  the  second  sister  entered  likewise,  and 
took  up  her  sisters  last  words — "  By  five  vou  were  to 
be  off,  and  there  you  sit  as  if  you  had  no  life  in  you." 

It  was  not  quite  true  that  Peggy  was  then  sitting, 
for  she  had  risen  from  her  seat  the  moment  Miss  Cot- 
terill entered;  she  offered  no  defence,  however,  but, 
taking  up  a  little  brown  jug,  drew  some  hot  water  from 
the  boiler,  and  said  quietly  she  would  be  ready  to  be 
off  in  half  an  hour.  Peggy  disarmed  her  mistresses  by 
her  quiet  inoffensive  manner,  and  going  into  her  garret 
imHTediately,  They  too  stood  by  the  kitchen  fire,  and, 
lookrffg  round,  said  they  must  confess  that  everything 
was*  very^etetn,  and  that  would  be  a  good  lesson  to  the 
newlgiri  as_  to  the  wav  in  which  evervthinsr  must  be 
kept. 

In  half  an  hour  Peggy  came  aown  again,  carrying  a 
small  deal  box,  and  a  bundle  in  her  hand,  which  she 
set  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen,  as  much  out  of  the  way 
as  possible,  and  then,  five  minutes  afterwards,  came 
down  in  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  with  a  bonnet-box, 
tied  up  in  an  apron,  in  her  hand.  Her  worldly  pos- 
sessions were  all  there,  and  Peggy  was  very  poor.  She 
tnen  filled  the  tea-kettle  and  set  it  on  the  fire,  ready 
for  the  ladies'  tea,  and,  meekly  making  a  courtesy,  said 
she  was  ready  to  go.  The  Miss  Cotterills  glanced  at  the 
Dutch-clock  on  the  wall,  and  saw  that  it  wanted  five 
minutes  to  five;  they  told  her,  therefore,  that  she  had 
better  get  tea  for  them  before  she  went,  and  when  it 
was  ready  they  wor.ld  pay  her  her  wages.  The  two  mis- 
tresses went  into  the  parlour,  whilst  Peggy,  who  had 
hurried  herself  so  much   to   get  readv,  took  off  her 

b2 


6        WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-SERVANT? 

bonnet  and  shawl  again — not  unrelnctantly  either,  for 
she  thought  they  would  perhaps  give  her  her  tea  before 
she  went,  which  would  be  much  better  than  going 
home  hungry.  She  took  in  the  tea  things,  the  kettle, 
and  the  spirit-lamp;  and  Miss  Agatha,  whose  quarter 
it  now  was  to  manage  the  housekeeping  affairs,  paid 
her  her  few  shillings  of  wages,  and  then  graciously 
told  her  that,  in  consideration  of  her  youth,  and  of  her 
having  latterly  done  her  work  pretty  well,  they  were 
willing  to  pass  over  her  faults— to  say  nothing  about 
the  missing  white  sugar,  nor  about  the  beer-bottle 
found  in  her  bed-room,  nor  about  the  pink  ribbon  in 
her  cap,  nor  the  sweetheart  she  was  suspected  of 
having,  but  to  give  her  a  general  good  character.  The 
ladies  had  threatened  the  very  reverse  of  this,  and  so 
poor  Peggy  dropped  a  courtesy  and  felt  very  grateful. 

"  Blessed  are  the  meek,  for  they  shall  inherit  the 
earth,"  said  He  who  understood  better  than  any  other 
living  being  the  philosophy  of  social  life  ;  and  poor 
Peggy's  meekness  touched  the  cold  suspicious  hearts 
of  these  two  ladies.  "  There's  no  need  to  give  her  her 
tea,"  said  Miss  Agatha,  when  she  was  out  of  the  room, 
putting  her  suggestion  into  a  negative  form,  as  if  to 
solicit  a  negative  reply. 

"  I  dare  say  she  made  a  good  dinner,"  returned  the 
elder;  "  and  yet  it  is  a  cold  day,  and  her  family  are 
miserably  poor.     Shall  I  ring  for  her?" 

"  Just  as  vou  please,"  said  Miss  Agatha.  Her  sister 
rung,  and  Peggy,  in  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  again 
entered.  Miss  Agatha  poured  some  weak  tea  into  the 
slop-basin,  and,  smearing  a  slice  of  bread  with  the 
smallest  possible  quantity  of  butter,  gave  them  to  her. 

Why  did  tears  start  into  the  poor  girl's  eyes  ?  and 
why,  five  minutes  afterwards,  when  she  met  on  the 
door-steps  the  new  maid-servant,  did  she  not  say  one 
word  to  the  disadvantage  of  her  mistresses,  although. 


WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-SERVANT  7 

an  hour  before,  she  had  threatened  to  do  so  ?  Becauso 
she  had  received  some  little  kindness  and  consideration 
from  them;  and,  Heaven  knows,  she  received  but  little. 
Oh,  how  easy  a  thing  it  is  to  make  the  poor  our  grateful 
friends! 

Jane  Ford,  the  new  servant,  prepossessed  her  new 
mistresses  greatly  in  her  favour,  even  that  first  night. 
She  looked  so  neat  in  her  dark  stuff  gown,  white  apron, 
little  plain  collar,  and  close  net  cap,  and  with  her  hair 
braided  instead  of  curled,  as  poor  Peggy  wore  hers; 
and  she  really  was  such  a  good-tempered,  healthy- 
looking  girl,  and  so  very  pretty  withal! 

"  She's  such  a  creditable-looking  servant,"  said  the 
elder  sister;  "  it's  a  pleasure  to  see  such  about  a  house." 

"  Just  the  sort  of  person  to  live  with  ladies,"  said  the 
second^  'ifo^thus  she  is  out  of  the  way  of  temptation. 
But  one  thing,"  added  she,  "  we  must  take  care  of,  and 
thaws'," Ihafwe  do  not  spoil  her — only  think  of  Mrs. 
Burton's  Lucy!" 

"  We'll  give  her  plenty  to  do,"  said  Agatha.  "  Never 
let  her  think  herself  perfect,"  added  Miss  Cotterill; 
and  then,  as  if  the  words  suggested  the  idea,  up  she 
rose  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  there  was  plenty 
to  find  fault  with  even  on  this  first  evening-. 

"  Nine  o'clock,  and  a  fire  like  this!"  exclaimed  the 
acrid  voice  of  the  elder  lady,  as  she  entered  the  kitchen 
and  found  Jane  sitting  before  a  fire  which  made  the 
whole  place  look  cheerful,  while  a  candle  was  burning 
on  the  table  and  Jane  doing  nothing — "  what  can  vou 
mean  by  extravagance  like  this?"  Jane  said  it  was  a 
very  cold  night,  and  she  did  not  know  that  she  had 
made  too  large  a  fire;  while  her  mistress  took  up  the 
kitchen  tongs  and  removed  the  largest  pieces  of  blazing 
coal.  "  Its  downright  shameful  extravagance,  and 
what  we  never  can  allow:  the  kitchen  fire  is  made  up 
but  once  after  tea,  and  that  you  will  please  to  re- 
member." 


8        WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-SERVANT ! 

Jane  said  she  was  very  sorry;  and  then  the  second 
sister  entered  the  kitchen,  and,  understanding  the 
cause  of  complaint,  chimed  in  with  her  sister,  and  the 
two  scolded  the  new  servant,  spite  of  the  former  favour- 
able impression,  or  rather  perhaps  in  consequence 
of  it. 

Jane  was  initiated  into  her  duties  with  the  utmost 
exactitude  :  not  a  day  passed  but  new  injunctions  were 
given  and  old  ones  repeated.     "  And   now  this  you 
must  remember,"  enjoined  Miss  Agatha,  in  one  of  her 
.ectures,  about  a  week  after  Jane  had  lived  with  them 
— "  no  gossipping  with  neighbours'  servants    will  be 
permitted  by  us;  no   coming  of  pretended  friends  or 
relations,  cousins  or  brothers.     You  must  think,  as  I 
have  so  often  told  you,  of  nothing  but  your  duty  to  us, 
your  mistresses.     Your  time  is  ours,   which    we  pay 
for;  your  mind  must  be  ours  also.     Once  a  week,  you 
know,  you  go  to  church,  to  evening  service,  either 
with  my  sister  or  myself.     We  both  go  to  church  on 
Sunday   morning;    we  take  it  by  turns  to  go  in  the 
evening,  and  you  regularly  accompany  the  one  that 
goes;  we  wish  to  make  you  a  good  eirl.     Yon  know 
your  catechism,  and  have  been  confirmed,   I   hope." 
Jane  said  she  had,  and  added — though  it  was  not  much 
to  the  point — that  she  had  a  Church  of  England  prayer- 
book,  and  a  bible,  and  a  Methodist  hymn-book. 

"You  are  not  a  Methodist,  sure!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Agatha,  in  unfeigned  consternation.  No,  Jane  said, 
not  a  Methodist  certainly;  but  Mrs.  Griffiths,  who  was 
a  friend  of  hers,  was  a  Methodist,  and  with  her  she 
had  often  gone  to  the  chapel. 

"  You  don't  know,  then,"  said  Miss  Agatha,  "  that 
the  Methodists,  and  all  such  people,  hold  dangerous 
revolutionary  principles,  and  instil  all  sorts  of  improper 
notions  into  the  heads  of  the  poor?  Never  let  me 
hear  you  talk  of  Methodists  again  !" 

"  What  is  that  you  say  about  Methodists?"  asked 


WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-SERVAN I  !        9 

Miss  Cotterill,  who,  hearing:  her  sister  in  such  eager 
discourse  with  the  servant,  entered  the  kitchen — 
"surely  the  girl  is  no  Methodist!" 

"  I  hope  not  indeed !"  said  Miss  Agatha;  "the  Church 
of  England,  as  I  tell  her,  is  the  only  true  place  of  wor- 
ship, and  the  Methodists,  and  Quakers,  and  all  such 
people,  are  dangerous  and  disaffected." 

"  Mind  what  Miss  Agatha  says,"  remarked  the  elder 
sister,  "  and  have  nothing  to  do  with  Methodists;  they 
are  canting  plausible  people,  that  disguise  the  most 
fatal  opinions  under  a  cloak  of  religion." 

"Dear  me!"  said  poor  Jane,  utterly  confounded, 
and  wondering  whether  Mrs.  Griffiths  and  her  son 
Mark  knew  what  sort  of  people  the  Methodists  were, 
or  whether  it  were  possible  that  they  could  have  bad 
designs  under  their  kind  and  friendly  seeming  ;  "  Dear 
me!  but  l'in*not  a  regular  Methodist,  ma'am,"  nor 
Mark. G-riffiths-neither,  thought  she,  though  she  did  not 
sav  sdj  "-but  Mrs.  Griffiths  has  been  like  a  mother  to 
me." 

"  Will  you  understand,  Jane,"  continued  Miss  Aga- 
tha, "that  these  Methodist  acquaintance  of  yours 
never  come  about  the  place,  nor  shall  we  suffer  you  to 
go  to  them.  You  go  with  us  to  church,  and  read  your 
prayer-book;  that  is  the  way  to  learn  your  duty  both 
to  God  and  man." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Jane,  and  courtesied,  thinking 
the  while  that  this  decision  against  the  Griffiths,  whom 
they  did  not  know,  was  unjust,  and  that  their  prohibi- 
tion regarding  them  was  arbitrary. 

"  Now,  remember  what  we  have  said  to  you,"  re- 
peated both  sisters  in  one  breath  ;  "bring  us  our  bed 
candle,  and  go  yourself  to  bed." 

•  Jane  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  retired  to  her  own 
garret,  to  think  over  the  warning  she  had  had  against 
Methodists,  and  to  wonder  whether  Mark  Griffiths  and 
his  mother  knew  that  they  were  dangerous  people. 


tO    WHAT  IS  SHE?    NOTHING  BUT  A  MAID-SERVANT ! 

Jane  Ford,  who  as  yet  had  but  small  experience  in 
servitude,  having  only  lived  at  the  Ruben's  Head, 
where  she  had  hard  work  to  do  sixteen  or  eighteen 
hours  each  day;  and  then  with  a  certain  Mrs.  Lewis, 
the  wife  of  a  master  shoemaker,  where  there  were 
seven  children  under  eight  years  of  age,  and  two 
apprentices  in  the  house,  thought,  when  she  came  into 
the  service  of  two  single  ladies  who  lived  in  such  a 
nice  quiet  way,  she  should  enter,  as  it  were,  into  a 
very  paradise  of  life  ;  she  should  wear  a  neat  clean 
cap  and  a  white  apron  in  an  afternoon,  and  should 
have  a  little  time  to  sit  and  sew  for  herself,  and  to  foot 
her  stockings,  and  keep  her  things  well  mended:  in 
fact,  it  seemed  to  her,  in  anticipation,  that  she  should 
lead  the  life  of  a  gentlewoman  among  servants.  She 
thought  of  girls  living  in  small  public-houses  and  shoe- 
makers' families,  where  all  was  in  a  muddle  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  with  no  hope  of  quiet  or  order,  from 
week's  end  to  week's  end,  and  her  heart  was  filled 
with  compassion  for  them;  she  thought  she  never 
would  live  in  such  families  again — nay,  almost,  never 
again  where  there  were  children.  She  thought  she 
was  now  quite  in  luck's  way;  nor  did  the  fault-finding 
of  her  mistresses,  whose  philosophy  it  was  never  to 
seem  satisfied,  nor  all  their  tirades  against  the  Method- 
ists, daunt  her  at  all:  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
like  her  place,  and  she  flattered  herself  that,  setting 
about,  as  she  would  do,  to  keep  all  clean  and  neat, 
and  to  be  steady  and  good-tempered,  she  should  soon 
make  her  mistresses  very  fond  of  her. 


11 

CHAPTER    IL 

A  MAID-SERVANT.' — AN  ENEMY! 

It  was  not  such  an  easy  thing  as  Jane  had  at  first 
imagined  to  keep  that  small  house  neat  and  clean, 
according  to  the  standard  of  neatness  and  cleanliness 
prescribed  by  the  two  sisters ;  but,  what  was  worse 
even  than  their  severe  exactitude,  was  the  system  of 
suspicion  and  espionage  to  which  she  was  subjected. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  girl  has  shaken  the  drugget 
this  morning,"  the  elder  sister  would  say. 

"  If  it  have  not  been  taken  up  this  morning,"  Miss 
Agatha  would  reply,  "  there's  a  ravel  of  white  thread 
half  way  .under  it,  which  I  put  there  yesterday  to 
prove*  tier."  The  white  thread  was  not  to  be  found, 
and  yrVsnfnptWe  evidence,  therefore,  was  in  Jane's 
favour. 

"  I  will  try  if  she  be  honest,"  again,  one  of  the 
sisters  would  say,  "and  count  the  lumps  of  white 
sugar  in  the  basin,  which  I  will  leave  on  the  sideboard 
while  we  go  out  this  evening:  there's  nothing  li«.e  a 
proof." 

Forty-seven  lumps  were  in  the  basin  at  night,  forty- 
seven  were  in  it  next  morning:  so  far  was  satisfactory. 

Poor  Miss  Cotterills!  the  business  of  their  lives 
seemed  to  be  to  pry  into  the  motives,  and  dive  down 
into  the  very  thoughts  of  their  maid-servants!  There 
were  two  or  three  ladies  with  whom  they  visited,  and 
who  made  every  week  calls  upon  them.  Their  con- 
versation always,  sooner  or  later,  in  the  course  of  their 
meetings,  was  about  their  servants.  "  Well,  and  how 
does  Maria,  or  Ann,  or  Jane,  or  Susan,  go  on  ?"  was 
always  the  question  which,  like  good  wine  at  the 
social  board,  made  the  spirit  of  their  intercourse  flow 
most  freely. 


12  A  MAID-SERVANT! — AN  ENEMY! 

-  And  how  does  Jane  go  on?"— asked  the  stout  old 
Mrs.  Tottington,  who  walked  out  for  a  gossip  with 
one  or  other  of  her  friends  every  afternoon,  accom- 
panied by  her  fat  spaniel—"  Miss  Farnham  says  she 
pleases  vou." 

"Hum!"  said  the  elder  sister;  "hum!'  said  the 
younger  sister,  and  rose  up  to  see  that  the  parlour  door 
was  closely  shut.  , 

At  that  moment  Miss  F&rnham  came  in.  "  Oh,  how 
do  you  do,  Miss  Farnham  ?"  "  Do  take  this  chair  by 
the  fire,  dear  Miss  Farnham,"  said  the  two  Miss  Cot- 
tcrills. 

"  And  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Cotterills;  and  you, 
dear  Mrs.  Tottington?"  returned  she,  being  received 
by  all  with  the  utmost  cordiality.  Miss  Farnham 
seated  herself,  and  loosened  the  boa  from  her  neck; 
and  then  Miss  Cotterill  began—"  Mrs.  Tottington  was 
just  asking  about  Jane  when  you  came  in."  ^ 

"  I  declare  1  never  saw  anything  like  that  coal-box, 
said  Mrs.  Tottington;  "come  here,  Dasn!— the  whole 
house,  in  fact,  Is   like   nobody  else's— so  clean  and 
bright!"  .      _         ... 

"  The  house  is  well  enough,"  replied  Miss  Cotterill. 
who  prided  herself,  nevertheless,  on  the  beautiful  polish 
of  the  furniture,  and  the  general  order  of  everything; 
"but  Jane  is  a  very  artful  girl,  we  were  just  going  to 
tell  vou;"  and  again  Miss  Agatha  looked  to  the  closing 
of  the  door.  "  We  were  just  goinj*  to  tell  you,"  con- 
tinued she—"  a  very  artful  girl  is  Jane !" 

"  I  always  am  suspicious  of  those  quiet,  clever  ser- 
vants," said  Miss  Farnham. 

"  Still  waters— you  know  the  proverb,"  said  Mrs. 
Tottington.  .  , 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Miss  Agatha, "  how  much  inclined 
she  was  to  Methodism." 

"  What !  is  she  a  Methodist,  then?"  interrupted  Miss 
Farnham,  who,  being   a   clergyman's   daughter,   and 


w 

A  MAID-SERVANT.' AN  ENEMY.'  13 

having  an  uncle  the  rector  of  a  living-  0f  800/.  a-year, 
was  a  desperate  churchwoman;  while  Mrs.  Tottington 
took  off  her  boa,  and  looked  curious  as  to  what  was 
coming.  Miss  Agatha  began  to  tell  Miss  Farnham, 
and  her  sister  began  to  tell  Mrs.  Tottington  the  in- 
teresting something,  both  together;  but  as  this  led  to 
considerable  confusion,  Miss  Agatha — who  had  the 
louder  voice — continued,  after  the  first  moment,  the  nar- 
rator. "Yes,  Agatha,"  said  her  sister,  "you  tell  it; 
and,  as  Mrs.  Tottington  did  not  hear  your  beginning, 
you  had  better  begin  again." 

"  You  see,"  said  Miss  Agatha,  "  she  is  such  a  decent 
respectable  sort  of  girl,  and,  as  far  as  we  can  make  out, 
honest;  but  for  all  that,  she  is  so  artful — there  is  a 
something  concealed  that  we  cannot  get  to  the  bottom 
of.  And  then,,  you  know,  one  cannot  have  people  of 
whom-<rrie  has  no  knowledge,  coming  about  the  place, 
especially-*  hetr  we  are  out  of  the  way." 

Both  the  auditors  declared  that  to  "be  impossible. 
"It  Was  only  last  Saturday  night,"  resumed  Miss 
Agatha,  "  we  were  at  Mr.  Rudford's,  and  came  home 
half  an  hour  earlier  than  we  were  expected — that  is 
ever  a  good  way  of  finding  them  out — and,  just  as  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  house,  we  saw  a  somebody  coming 
down  the  steps  from  our  door.  '  Who  have  you  had 
here  ?'  asked  we  of  Jane,  the  moment  she  ope'ned  the 
door:  she  looked  quite  confused,  and  said  it  was  only 
her  sister.  « Your  sister!'  we  exclaimed;  for  it  was 
the  figure  of  a  little  old  woman  huddled  up  in  a  cloak.'* 
"  Quite  a  little  hump-backed  woman,"  interrupted 
Miss  Cotterill. 

'  '  Don't  tell  us  any  stories,  said  we,'  continued  Miss 
Agatha.  '  It's  no  story,'  said  Jane,  quite  in  a  positive 
way;  'she  is  deformed,  and  very  short,  and  in  the  lamp 
light  looked,  I  dare  say,  like  an  old  woman.'  •  You 
know  you  have  no  right  to  have  folks  coming  after 

c 


14  a  maid-servant!— an  enemy! 

you  in  this  way,'  we  said,  'when  our  backs  are  turned; 
what  did  she  want?'" 

«  To  be  sure!"  exclaimed  both  the  visitors,    a  most 

na!.U.rWhatediTshe  want?'  asked  we,"  continued  Miss 
A-atha.  "  She  would  not  answer  for  a  long  time,  and 
then  said  it  was  nothing  particular;  it  was  about  some- 
thing that  only  concerned  her  own  family. 

"Now  that  looks  very  bad,"  interrupted  the  elder 

Miss  Cotterill.  .,  -,      „,  . 

« It  was  no  sister,  depend  upon  it!    said  Mrs.  I  ot- 
tington;  "depend  upon  it,  she  had  been  having  her 

fortune  told."  .„       .       . 

"  We  thought  as  much,"  continued  Miss  Agatha; 
"but  it's  a  serious  thing,  you  know,  having  people  let 
into  the  house  in  that  way,  and  so  we  told  her.  irs 
no  fortune-teller,'  said  she,  'but  only  my  sister;  or  it 
I  must  speak  the  whole  truth,  my  stepmothers  daugh- 
ter, only  I  call  her  sister,  because  she  is  so  good  to 
everybody;'  and  then  she  begun  crying.  '  Crying  can 
do  no  good,'  we  said;  '  tell  us  what  she  came  about,  and 
then  we  may  believe  you;  always  be  open  and  speak 
the  truth.'  '  It's  nothing  but  what  concerns  my  lather 
and  my  own  family,  and  I  can  tell  nobody   sa.d  Jane 

And  here  we  may  as  well  tell  our  kind-hearted 
readers  what  the  poor  maid-servant  would  not  tell  her 
mistresses,  that  Letty's  errand  that  night  was  to  ask 
Jane's  advice,  or  rather  condolence,  in  the.r  unhappy 
family  circumstances.  The  father  had  been  fourteen 
days  absent  from  his  family,  and  Letty,  < with  a  heart 
full  almost  to  bursting,  had  thus  come  in  the  dark  after 
little  Sally  was  in  bed,  to  unburden  her  griefs  and  hear 
a  few  kind  words  spoken  by  Jane,  whom  she  loved 
dearly.  Jane,  therefore,  who  was  aware  how  the  know- 
ledge of  her  unfortunate,  not  to  say  guilty,  connexions 
wodd  prejudice  the  hearts  of  her  mistresses  against 


A  MAID-SERVANT.'  — AN  ENEMY  !  15 

her,  •would  not  have  dared,  as  she  valued  her  place,  to 
have  given  the  least  intimation  of  the  truth,  but  fur- 
thermore would  try  all  in  her  power  to  keep  it  from 
their  knowledge.  It  was  unfortunate  that  Letty  had 
been  seen  by  them;  still  more  was  the  poor  girl  per- 
plexed when  she  remembered  that  Mark  Griffiths  was 
to  come  the  next  morning  during  church-time,  to  bring 
her  any  further  family  news.  Jane  was  in  a  dilemma; 
and,  because  she  looked  confused,  was  believed  to  be 
guilty. 

Thus  much  being  communicated  to  our  readers,  we 
proceed  with  Miss  Agatha's  narrative.  "  I  examined," 
said  she,  "everything,  but  nothing  seemed  to  have 
been  touched ;  there  was  part  of  a  neck  of  boiled 
mutton  in  the.pantry,  but  it  had  not  been  meddled  with, 
nor  even. the,bread,  I  do  believe." 

"  >fo^  I  think  she  is  honest,"  interrupted  Miss  Cot- 
teriH.  *— '  -'" 

"■But-then,"  continued  her  sister,  "  she  may  get  cor- 
rupted; and,  really,  that  little  crooked  ill-looking  per- 
son was  just  such  a  one  as  one  naturally  suspects. 
But,  however,  I  have  not  yet  done." 

The  two  visitors  bent  forward  in  eager  curiosity, 
and  Miss  Cotterill  stirred  up  the  fire,  while  Miss  Aga- 
tha continued,  "  We  went  to  church  the  next  morning, 
and  when  we  returned  Jane  was  hastily  finishing  laying 
the  cloth,  which  she  ought  to  have  done  half  an  hour 
before.  '  What  makes  you  so  late,  Jane?'  asked  we; 
she  looked  all  in  a  flurry,  and  said  she  had  mistaken 
the  hour.  '  Who  have  you  had  with  you?'  we  asked; 
she  looked  ready  to  drop,  and  then  went  as  red  as  a 
fire.  '  Oh  dear — nobody,  ma'am,'  said  she.  '  Now 
don't  go  to  tell  us  any  lies,'  said  we,  for  we  got  quite 
angry.  '  Oh  dear,  yes,  ma'am,'  said  she  the  next  minute, 
'only  a  young  boy  brought  home  my  shoes,  that  have 
been  mended;'  and  then  she  fetched  in,  as  fast  as  could 


16  a  maid-servant! — an  enemy! 

be,  a  pair  of  shoes  that  had  just  been  soled.  '  WelJ, 
Jane,'  said  we,  '  we  shall  find  you  out,  depend  upon  it; 
it's  no  use  trying  to  deceive  us — no  servant  ever  could 
deceive  us  yet.' " 

"  Well  ? "  said  both  Miss  Farnham  and  Mrs.  Tot- 
tington. 

"I  went  over,"  continued  Miss  Agatha,  "to  Mrs. 
Robinson's,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  who  is  too 
ill  to  go  to  church,  and  asked  if  they  had  seen  anybody 
come  to  the  house  while  we  were  out?  I  told  her 
what  a  respect  we  had  for  Jane,  but  that  now  we  sus- 
pected she  had  some  bad  connexions,  and  that  we 
wanted  to  find  it  out,  and  save  her,  perhaps,  from  ruin. 
Mrs.  Robinson's  nurse  said,  she  had  seen  a  youth, 
maybe  of  nineteen  or  so,  come  to  the  house,  and  that 
he  shook  hands  with  Jane,  and  gave  her  something  out 
of  his  pocket — it  might  be  shoes,  but  she  could  not 
«ay:  they  stood  talking  together  at  the  door,  maybe 
half  an  hour;  and  that  Jane  had  gone  into  the  house 
twice,  and  left  him  standing  there,  maybe  to  look  after 
the  roast,  or  to  fetch  him  something.  Now  all  this 
is  very  unpleasant,"  continued  Miss  Agatha;  "it  has 
destroyed  all  our  confidence  in  her." 

"  To  be  sure  it  has !  Well,  and  what  have  you 
done  ?"  asked  the  two  visitors. 

"  I  wanted  to  give  her  notice  immediately  to  leave," 
said  the  elder  sister. 

"  I  thought  we  had  better  wait  and  find  out  some- 
thing more,"  said  the  younger,  "  because  we  do  not 
wish  to  commit  Mrs.  Robinson's  nurse,  who  says  she 
knows  Jane's  stepmother,  and  that  she  is  a  very  bad, 
violent  woman." 

The  two  visitors  inquired  Jane's  family  name,  and 
then,  both  repeating  "  Ford,"  and  finding  that  it  fur- 
nished no  idea  on  which  to  comment.  Miss  Agatha 
resumed — "  We  mean  to  go  on  just  as  if  nothing  was 


A  maid-servant! — an  enemy!  17 

amiss,  because  this  will  put  her  off  her  guard,  and  so 
v»e  may  find  her  out." 

"It's  a  shocking-  thing-,  though,"  interrupted  Miss 
Cotterill,  "to  have  bad  people  coming  about  the  place. 
That  little  hump-backed  thing,  and  the  young  boy,  as 
she  called  him,  coming  the  next  morning  while  we 
vrere  out,  can  mean  no  good;  it  has  a  very  bad  look- 
out— that  it  has !" 

After  this,  the  four  ladies  talked  long  on  the  natural 
depravity  of  servants,  and  concluded  that,  however 
modest  and  honest  and  unexceptionable  Jane's  general 
conduct  might  be,  there  must  be  something  fatally- 
wrong,  when  little  deformed  women,  and  young  boys 
pretending  to  be  shoemakers,  came  after  her. 

Alj,this  time  poor  Jane  was  in  the  greatest  state  of 
anxiety*. -for  Mark  Griffiths  had  brought  her  word  that 
her  steprnpthe*.  had  applied  for  parish  relief,  com- 
plainiog  violently  of  the  desertion  of  her  husband,  and 
that  he  jWoutd  most  probably  be  advertised  on  the 
Wednesday  as  a  runaway  from  his  family;  and  by  this 
means,  most  probably,  the  Miss  Cotterills  would  dis- 
cover her  unhappy  connexions.  What  could  she  do? 
Nothing  but  cry  quietly  to  herself;  and  when  her 
mistresses,  who  were  now  doubly  watchful  of  every 
circumstance,  inquired  into  the  cause,  reply,  by  a  little 
falsehood,  tnat  she  had  such  a  bad  cold.  No  wonder 
that  she  had  a  cold,  replied  the  Miss  Cotterills— -who, 
although  they  meant  to  give  her  no  hint  of  their  pre- 
sent discoveries,  could  not  resist  the  opportunity  for 
reproof — people  who  stood  talking  at  street  doors  were 
sure  to  get  colds. 

The  Miss  Cotterills  joined  with  some  of  their  frienda 
for  the  Wednesday  paper,  which  came  to  them,  there- 
fore, on  the  Friday.  Jane  could  not  help  glancing  over 
the  advertisements  before  she  took  it  into  the  parlour, 
and  felt  ready  to  faint  when  she  saw  there  the  fearful 
paragraph,  accompanied  by  its  rude  cut  of  the  run« 

c2 


18  A  maid-servant! — an  enemy! 

away,  with  the  bundle  on  his  back  and  the  gallows  in 
the  distance.  She  folded  the  advertisements  into  the 
inside,  and  then,  quietly  opening  the  parlour-door,  laid 
the  paper  on  the  sideboard  without  a  word.  The  Miss 
Cotterills,  however,  were  not  to  be  imposed  upon: 
they  knew  that  the  paper  was  brought;  they  heard 
Jane  go  into  the  kitchen,  and  that  looked  odd;  per- 
haps the  "young  bov"  who  had  brought  the  shoes 
had  been  there  again.  They  looked  through  the 
window:  no— Mrs.  Tottington's  servant  had  brought 
it  just  as  usual,  and  was  now  going  on  towards  the 
market-place:  it  was  odder  still. 

"  Jane !"  exclaimed  both  sisters  at  once,  as  the  poor 
girl  was  quietlv  shutting  the  parlour-door  again.  Jane 
re-entered.  "Why  do'you  bring  the  paper  in  in  that 
way  ?  and  why  need  you  take  it  into  the  kitchen  before 
vou  bring  it  in  '?" 

"  Jane  did  not  know  what  to  say;  there  was  some- 
thing very  severe  in  her  mistresses'  tone:  their  eyes 
were  fixed  sternly  upon  her.  She  felt  as  if  she  dared 
not  tell  the  truth:  if  her  mistresses  had  been  less  sus- 
picious, she  would  have  opened  her  whole  heart  to  them, 
and  have  asked  counsel  from  them  in  all  her  trouble 
and  anxiety.  She  told  the  literal  truth,  however, 
when  she  said  that  she  had  washed  her  hands  in  the 
kitchen;  but  she  exceeded  it,  and  that  was  a  pity, 
when  she  added  "  and  that  was  all."  Neither  one 
sister  nor  the  other  believed  her,  and  so  they  told  her. 
It  is  a  wretched  thing  to  be  suspected  of  falsehood, 
and  Jane  despised  herself  because  she  had  burdened 
her  conscience  with  a  few  untrue  words. 

"  Oh,  she  is  a  bad  artful  girl !"  exclaimed  Miss 
Agatha;  and,  while  she  thus  spoke,  Miss  Farnham 
knocked  at  the  door.  She  entered,  with  news  written 
on  her  countenance,  and  was  cordially  welcomed  by 
both  sisters. 

"  Oh,  you've  got  the  paper— that's  right  .—I  havts 


A  MAID-SERVANT! AN  ENEMY  !  19 

something  very  particular  to  tell  you;"  and,  taking  up 
the  paper,  she  opened  to  the  advertisement  side,  and 
then,  folding  it  into  a  quarto  size,  proceeded: — "  Ford, 
you  told  me,  was  your  new  servant's  name:  do  you 
know  that  she  has  some  of  the  worst  connexions  in 
the  world  ?" 

"  Gracious  goodness !"  exclaimed  both  Miss  Cot- 
terills. 

"  Shocking  people  these  Fords  are!"  continued  Miss 
Farnham;  "the  father  was  one  of  the  most  desperate 
leaders  of  the  riots  last  autumn." 

"  Oh,  Lord !"  interrupted  Miss  Agatha;  and  her 
sister  grew  pale. 

"  People  say,"  continued  Miss  Farnham,  "  that  he 
ought  to  have  been  hanged.  All  last  winter  he  was  in 
hiding— "ariiorig  dog-stealers,  and  pick-pockets,  and 
housebreakejiy-for  anything  I  know.  He  is  a  well- 
known  character,  and  his  wife  is  one  of  the  most  noto- 
rious women  in  the  town.  Mr.  Bartram,  in  one  of 
whose  houses  they  have  lived,  gives  a  terrible  account 
of  them:  there  are  a  great  many  sisters,  and  one  either 
was  or  ought  to  have  been  in  the  house  of  correction 
for  stealing  net  from  a  warehouse  where  she  was 
employed,  and  another  was  taken  up  for  stealing 
money  from  some  lodgers.  Oh,  you  never  in  your  life 
heard  of  such  a  nest  of  people.  One  sister,  I  believe, 
is  deformed,  and  one  or  two  others  are  no  better  than 
they  should  be.* 

The  Miss  Cotterills  were  speechless,  and  had  already 
visions  before  their  mind's  eye  of  terrible  night-robbers 
let  into  the  house  by  this  artful  servant  girl;  of  them- 

*  We  take  it  for  granted  that  our  readers  are  acquainted  with  our 
foregoing  story  of  "  Little  Coin,  Much  Care,"  through  which  they 
have  become  familiar  with  the  household  of  the  Fords,  and  know, 
therefore,  previously,  all  these  circumstances  to  which  Miss  Farnham 
now  refers,  and  which,  even  with  but  liJtle  misrepresentation  or 
exaggeration,  told  so  fatally  against  Jane's  family. 


20  A  MAID-SERVANT  ! AN  ENEMY  ! 

selves  being  gagged,  tied  to  bed-posts,  if  not  fairly 
murdered  in  their  beds,  while  the  robbers  made  of! 
with  all  their  plate  and  other  valuables.  They  were  too 
much  excited  to  say  oneword;  and  Miss  Farnham,  point- 
ing now  to  the  runaway  advertisement,  resumed: — 
"  The  father  is  now  off,  as  you  may  see  by  this  adver- 
tisement; and,  when  he  is  taken,  will  have  to  work,  in 
the  tread-mill." 

"  Perhaps  he's  gone  off  on  account  of  some  robbery 
or  murder,"  gasped  poor  Miss  Cotterill,  almost  fright- 
ened to  death. 

"  What  shall  we  do?"  asked  Miss  Agatha;  "  I  was 
sure  something  was  wrong:  one  never  suspects  with- 
out cause :  suspicion  is  a  sort  of  natural  instinct.  What 
shall  we  do?" 

The  two  ladies  clasped  their  hands,  and  looked 
panic-struck,  whilst  Miss  Farnham  sate  holding  the 
newspaper  between  her  face  and  the  fire,  without 
offering  one  word  of  counsel.  Poor  Miss  Cotterills! 
what  was  to  be  done  ?  So  good  and  kind,  they  said, 
as  they  had  been  to  this  girl;  so  highly  as  they  had 
thought  of  her— so  much  as  they  wished  to  do  for  her 
— oh,  it  was  quite  terrible !  Had  they  not  taken  her 
with  them  to  church— and  put  her  half  a  teaspoonful 
of  tea  extra  into  the  pot — and,  till  they  began  to  sus- 
pect her,  did  they  ever  lock  the  pantry  door,  which 
they  always  had  done  when  Peggy  was  with  them! 
Poor  Peggy!  they  were  quite  sorry  for  her  now;  for 
her  family,  though  poor,  was  respectable.  Again  they 
appealed *to  the  visitor  what  were  they  to  do? 

Miss  Farnham  of  all  things  loved  to  excite  a  sensa- 
tion; therefore,  she  counselled  them  that  the  sooner 
they  were  rid  of  her  the  better.  "  Sacrifice,"  said  she, 
"  a  month's  wages,  anything,  rather  than  keep  a  person 
about  you  in  whom  y»'  ^ave  no  confidence,  and  whose 
connexions  are  so  bac.     Depend  upon  it,"  continued 


A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER.  21 

she,  "even  if  she  be  honest  herself,  she  may  be  the 
dupe  of  the  designing — you  never  can  feel  safe  while 
she  is  in  the  house.  Of  course  you  must  do  what  you 
think  best,  my  dear  Miss  Cotterill,"  said  she,  tying  her 
bonnet-strings  preparatory  to  departing;  "  but  my 
advice  is — get  rid  of  her!" 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  we  are  exceedingly  obliged  to  you," 
said  both  the  Miss  Cotterills;  "and  we  shall  certainly 
follow  your  advice.  Mrs.  Harper  can  come  and  be 
with  us  till  we  get  suited;  and  this  huzzy,  with  her 
deformed  sisters  and  young  shoemaker  boys,  may  go 
about  her  own  business ! " 


-*    .  .     ^   CHAPTER  III. 

«-  «*M*>  ^CHANGE    FOR  THE  BETTER. 

"WEt't,  Irdo declare!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Griffiths  that 
eveninsr,  "as,  while  she  sate  seaming  stockings  by 
candlelight,  she  saw  Jane  Ford  enter  her  room.  "  Why, 
sure  you  have  not  left  your  place!"  added  she,  as  Jane 
set  her  bonnet-box  down  on  the  floor,  and  a  bundle  on 
the  dresser. 

"  Yes,  I  have,  though,"  said  Jane,  who  had  evidently 
been  trying.  "  Oh  dear,  dear!  so  as  I  tried  to  please! 
60  as  I  wished  to  please,  and  to  have  stopped,  at  least, 
my  year  out! — but  it's  no  manner  of  use  fretting." 

''Well  but,  Jane  dear!"  said  kind  Mrs.  Griffiths, 
laying  down  her  work,  and  raising  her  spectacles  from 
her  nose  to  her  forehead,  "  I  don't  understand  this ! " 

"Can  Mark  fetch  my  boxes  to-night?"  asked  Jane, 
without  giving  the  explanation  her  friend  required; 
'and  will  you  let  me  stop  here  a  night  or  two?  Oh, 
Mark!"  exclaimed  Jane,  in  the  next  breath,  as  that 
youth,  in  his  smith's  apron,  and  with  his  hands  and 


22  A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER. 

face  black  from  the  forge— for  Mark  was  a  frame- 
smith — entered  the  room,  "  can  you  fetch  me  my  two 
boxes  from  the  Miss  Cotterills  ?— the  sooner  the  better, 
Mark." 

"Why,  bless  me!"  exclaimed  Mark,  in  as  much 
astonishment  as  his  mother,  "  have  you  left  your 
place?" 

"  How  else  should  I  want  my  boxes  fetched?"  said 
Jane,  rather  pettishly,  for  she  was  vexed  by  their 
astonishment—"  I  have  left:  that's  the  long  and  short 
of  it,  Mark;  and,  if  you  can't  fetch  me  my  boxes,  I 
must  ?et  somebody  else  that  can — that's  all !" 

"Oh,  I'll  fetch'them,"  said  Mark;  "bless  me!  I'd 
do  anything  for  you,  Jane  ;"  and,  without  stopping  to 
wash  either  his  hands  or  his  face,  or  even  to  take  off 
his  apron,  he  walked  with  hasty  steps  to  the  Miss 
Cotterills,  being  convinced  that  they  had  behaved 
shamefully  to  Jane,  and  so  there  was  no  need  for  him 
to  be  over  civil  in  fetching  the  boxes.  It  must  be 
confessed,  therefore,  that  the  alarm  of  the  two  ladies 
regarding  their  late  maid-servant's  desperate  connex- 
ions was  no  way  abated  by  the  appearance  of  an 
unwashed  person,  in  a  smith's  apron,  who  came  in  no 
courteous  spirit  to  do  his  errand. 

"  I'm  glad  she's  out  of  the  house,  bag  and  baggage," 
said  both  sisters,  as  the  door  was  closed  upon  Mark 
and  the  two  ill-omened  boxes — "  What  a  hangman- 
looking  fellow  he  is ! " 

By  the  bye,  Mark  Griffiths  had  a  remarkably  fine  face, 
with  an  open  cordial  expression,  although  he  was  only 
a  journeyman  smith;  but,  then,  he  had  a  broad  chest, 
and  was  of  a  tall  muscular  build;  and,  looking  at  him, 
the  two  single  ladies  thought  of  crow-bars,  and  keys 
that  opened  a  street-door  as  if  by  magic. 

When  Mark  set  the  two  boxes  on  the  floor  of  his 
mother's  kitchen,  he  found  Jane  without  her  bonnet 


A  CHANGE  TOR  THE   BETTER.  23 

and  shawl,  looking,  as  he  thought,  nicer  than  she  had 
ever  looked  before;  she  was  setting  out  some  bread 
and  cheese  on  the  round  table,  and  his  mother  was  at 
work  again.  And  here,  perhaps,  it  may  be  as  well  to 
make  an  observation  as  to  the  change  which  is  observ- 
able in  the  widow's  house  since  the  time  we  were  first 
introduced  to  it,  when  the  fever  broke  out,  and  Ford 
supported  poor  Griffiths  home,  and  laid  him  on  his 
straw  bed— to  die.  The  family  of  the  Fords  had,  as 
we  know,  gone  down  sadly  in  the  world  since  then; 
but  things,  on  the  contrary,  had  mended  considerably 
with  Mrs.  Griffiths.  In  the  first  place,  a  brother — a 
maltster,  of  Lincoln,  not  a  rich  man,  but  a  kind  one- 
had  settled  on  his  widowed  sister  an  annuity  of  seven 
shillings  a-week.  She  had  sunk  two  years  of  this^  as 
an  apprentice-fee  for  her  son,  working  hard  and  living 
sparingly  "the  while.  Heaven  seemed  to  prosper  her: 
her  health  was-fdod;  work,  which  was  scarce  in  the  town, 
seemect  however,  never  to  fail  her;  and  her  son  was 
steady,  arid  dutiful,  and  clever:  she  thought  the  blessing 
of  Heaven  was  upon  her,  and  her  heart  was  like  a  per- 
petua.  hymn  of  thanksgiving.  For  the  last  six  months 
Mark  had  been  out  of  his  apprenticeship,  and  was  re- 
ceiving good  wages,  whilst  she  was  again  in  the  receipt 
of  her  seven  shillings  a-week.  The-  Griffiths  really 
were  almost  rich  people.  But  we  will  now  return  to 
Mark,  who,  seeing  Jane  looking  so  neat  and  pretty,  had 
no  sooner  washed  himself  in  the  back  kitchen,  than  he 
went  up  stairs,  and  returned  in  his  Sunday  thing9,  with 
his  hair  comhed  and  brushed,  and  looking  quite  spruce. 
It  was  not  his  custom  by  any  means  to  dress  for  supper; 
so,  when  he  came  down,  his  mother  opened  her  large 
eyes,  and  exclaimed,  "  Bless  us  and  save  us!" 

Mark  fetched  in  a  quart  of  ale,  and  they  sate  down 
to  supper  as  merry  as  could  be,  and  as  if  there  were 
no  Miss  Cotterills  in  all  the  world ;  and  then,  when 


24  A  CHANGE  FOK  THE  BETTER. 

supper  was  over,  they  pushed  back  the  round  table* 
put  some  more  coal  on  the  fire,  and  all  three  sate  with 
their  feet  on  the  fender,  "  to  talk  over  things"— the 
principal  of  which  was  Jane's  future  prospects — not  for- 
getting her  unfortunate  family  connexions;  for  there 
needed  no  secrecy  with  the  Griffiths,  and  Jane  wanted 
not  only  counsel  but  sympathy.  The  mother  and  son 
both  sympathized  with  her;  and  Jane  cried,  and  so  did 
Mrs.  Griffiths;  and  Mark  stirred  up  the  fire  into  such 
a  blaze  that  they  found  the  candle  a  supernumerary, 
and  so  put  it  out. 

"  I  tell  her,"  at  length  said  Mrs.  Griffiths,  speaking 
rather  to  her  son  than  to  Jane,  "  that  there's  no  great 
harm  done.  One  service  lost  is,  as  one  may  say,  only 
another  found:  and  there's  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  the 
preacher's  wife,  as  good  a  Christian  as  ever  lived, 
wants  a  servant  at  this  very  time." 

"  Small  wages,  though,"  said  Mark. 

Jane  said  she  didn't  care  so  much  for  wages,  if  she 
could  only  be  comfortable,  and  not  be  sneered  at  and 
upbraided  for  her  poor  father's  sake.  Mark  still  said 
he  didn't  know,  but  he  thought  she  might  get  a  much 
better  place;  for  Mark,  since  he  had  begun  to  receive 
good  wages  himself,  was  disposed  to  estimate  the 
worth  of  a  place  by  the  amount  of  its  remuneration. 
Jane,  however,  who  knew  that,  after  her  shoe-bill  was 
paid,  she  should  hardly  be  able  to  call  a  shilling  her 
own,  was  willing  to  take  the  first  place  that  offered, 
provided  it  promised  comfort;  and,  at  Mrs.  Griffiths' 
continued  recommendation,  it  was  resolved  that,  the 
first  thing  after  breakfast  on  the  morrow,  she  should  be 
introduced  to  the  Methodist  preacher's  wife,  by  Mrs. 
Griffiths,  as  a  candidate  for  her  service." 

"  Well,  if  you  go,  I  shall  see  you  every  Sunday 
night  at  chapel,"  said  Mark. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Mrs.  Griffiths,  "  you'll  be  ieady 


A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER.  25 

enough  to  go  then  !"  Mark  made  no  reply,  and  yet 
Jane  blushed,  and,  with  something  of  a  conscious  air 
coughed  behind  the  folded  corner  of  her  apron,  which 
she  held  between  her  face  and  the  great  blazing  fire 
which  Mark  had  made. 

It  really  was  a  very  pleasant  little  tete-a-tete,  that; 

It  -.^  e  and  Mark  were  ^"ite  as,°nished  when 
Mr.  Griffiths  declared  it  to  be  past  midnight. 

There  was  no  secret  made  with  Mrs.  Mainwaring, 
the  preacher's  wife,  about  Jane's  unfortunate  con- 
nexions. Mrs.  Griffiths  told  all;  and,  to  all  appearance, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  girl  were  only  the  more  welcome 
on  that  very  account.  Mrs.  Mainwaring  talked  about 
its  being  the  best  privilege  of  Methodism,  to  go  to  the 
highways  and  hedges,  and  save  those  who,  otherwise, 
might  hejost.  -There  was  something  wonderfully  mild 
and  attractive  jrUhat  young  matronly,  but  somewhat 
too  anxious  countenance,  smiling  with  eyes  filled  with 
Christian- Jove- and  sympathy.  Jane  was  won  by  it, 
and  immediately  declared  she  would  take  service  with 
her,  although  she  offered  a  whole  pound  less  than  the 
Miss  Cottenlls,  and  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to 
give  more.  Mark,  when  he  heard  it,  said  it  was  a 
bad  day  s  work;  but  both  his  mother  and  Jane  were 
satisfied. 

That  Methodist  preacher's  house  was  a  very  small 
one,  consisting  but  of  two  rooms  on  a  floor,  and  fur- 
nished in  the  simplest  manner:  it  stood  just  at  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  and  had  a  cheerful  view  into  green 
fields,  which,  with  good  air,  were  all  that  could  recom- 
mend it.  There  were  four  children,  the  eldest  ei°-ht, 
the  youngest  in  arms— Samuel,  Barbara,  Joshua,  and 
little  Annie.  Jane,  who  was  naturally  fond  of  children, 
spite  of  the  sickening  she  had  had  at  the  master-shoe- 
maker's, was  extremely  touched  by  the  first  sight  of 
this  young  household.      Mrs    Mainwaring  took  hel 

D 


A  CHANGE   FOR  THE  BETTER. 


into  a  room  on  the  third  story,  which  she  called  the 
nursery:  the  four  children  were  altogether;  Samuel 
sate  on  a  stool  by  the  cradle,  where  the  youngest  was 
sleeping,  with  a  child's  table  before  him,  on  which  were 
books  and  a  slate,  for  he  was  doing  his  lessons.  Bar- 
bara was  putting  in  a  little  patch,  with  the  utmost 
exactitude,  into  a  printed  pinafore;  whilst  little  Joshua 
was  quietly  amusing  himself  on  the  floor,  with  empty 
cotton-reels,  walnut  shells,  and  such  like  trifles.  The 
children  rose  at  sight  of  their  mother  and  the  new 
servant,  but  so  softly,  and  spoke  so  low,  that  a  person 
outside  the  door  could  hardly  have  imagined  children 
to  be  there.  „ 

"  Samuel  and  Barbara  have  been  in  part  my  nurses, 
said  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  "since  our  servant  left." 

"  And  so  young  as  they  are!"  said  Jane. 

"Our  children  are  taught  early  to  be  useful,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Mainwaring;  "to  help  one  another— to  giv* 
up  something— to  surfer  even  some  inconvenience  fo> 
the  well-being  of  the  family;  which,  after  all,  is  but  thei? 

dutv."  ,  _       , 

"Annie  woke  up  once,"  said  Samuel,  "  and  I  rockea 
her  to  sleep  again."  m 

"  Joshua  has  been  very  good  and  quiet,"  said  Bar 
bara,  "and  has  never  once  sucked  his  hand;  and  I've 
mended  this  hole  in  my  pinafore:  see,  mother." 

The  mother  looked  "at  the  work  and  commended  it; 
and  little  Joshua  clasped  his  mother's  knees  affection- 
ately, without  saying  a  word.  "  This  is  our  new  servant, 
children,"  said  she;  "but  I  have  something  more  to 
say  to  her  yet;  so  sit  down  to  your  work  again.  Joshua 
may  go  with  us,  and  when  Annie  wakes,  call  me." 
Jane  took  up  little  Joshua  into  her  arms,  and  kissed 
him,  and  went  down  stairs  again  with  the  mother. 

"  Don't  you  like  her,  Barbara  ?"  asked  Samuel,  a* 
soon  as  they  were  out  of  the  room. 


A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER.  27 

"Oh  yes!"  replied  Barbara,  with  energy;  "  and  she 
seemed  so  good  to  Joshua — I  like  her  very  much." 

"  Don't  tell  her,"  said  Samuel,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 

"Tell  her  what?"  asked  Barbara;  adding,  the  next 
moment,  "  oh  yes,  I  know." 

"  I  wish  she  had  not  pome  till  next  week,"  said  the 
boy;  "  what  shall  I  do,  Barbara?  Ask  mother  not  to 
tell  her — do,  Barbara,  dear!"  said  he,  just  ready  to 
cry. 

Barbara  said  she  would,  and  went  down  stairs. 
Scarcely  was  she  gone,  when  Jane  herself  came  into 
the  room.  She  said  there  was  a  gentleman  who  had 
called,  in  the  parlour  with  his  mother,  and  that  she  had 
come  up  to  see  after  the  baby;  "but  why  are  you 
crying,  love?"  asked  she,  seeing  tears  in  the  poor  fel- 
low's eves. 

Howjjpai*it  that  Samuel,  who  had  just  sent  his  sister 
down  ^to,  the  jnpther  to  beg  her  to  keep  this  fearful 
something  from the  knowledge  of  the  new  servant,  felt, 
the  moment  she  spoke  so  kindly  to  him,  as  if  he  could 
open  his  whole  heart  to  her.  He  wondered  how  it 
was  and  yet  it  seemed  almost  a  relief  to  tell  her.  "  I 
think  I  can  tell  you,"  he  said ;  "for  perhaps  it  is  right 
you  should  know.     1  am  in  disgrace  in  the  family." 

"In  disgrace!  you  that  are  so  good!"  exclaimed 
Jane. 

"I've  been  very  naughty,"  said  Samuel;  "father 
said,  that  for  all  this  week  I  must  not  take  my  meals  in 
the  family;  I've  had  only  bread  and  water  and  oatmeal 
porridge  for  these  four  days;  and  1  have  it  here  by 
myself;"  and  the  poor  hoy  cried  bitterly. 

"Poor,  dear  child!"  said  Jane,  and  kissed  him; 
pitying  him  because  she  thought  his  father  must  be  so 
severe  a  man. 

Barbara  saved  rue  a  bit  of  rice-pudding  one  day," 
said  Samuel. 


28  A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER. 

"  I'll  save  you  some,"  said  Jane,  "  and  a  bit  of  meat 
beside." 

"  No,  no!  indeed,  you  must  not,"  replied  Samuel; 
"  mother  would  send  you  away  if  you  did,  and  father 
would  punish  me  more.     I'll  tell  you  how  I  got  into 
this  disgrace.    Our  last  servant  was  Susan;  she  wasn't 
kind  to  us  children;  she  lived  with  us  three  or  four 
months,  ever  since  we  came  here,  and  went  to  chapel, 
and  came  in  so  regularly  for  prayers,  and  father  and 
mother  thought  her  so  good,  you  can't  think:  she  used 
to  take  us  out  walks  in  an  afternoon  after  her  work 
was  done,  as  you  will;  and  she  often  went  to  houses 
and  about,  and  made  us  promise  not  to  tell,  or  else  she 
would  beat  us.     We  were  so  afraid  of  her,  for  one  day 
she  did  beat  Barbara,  and  she  was  so  strong,  and  got 
into  such  passions!     Father  and  mother  found  her  out 
at  last,  and  so  she  was  to  leave ;  and,  last   Friday — 
father  was  at  home  last  week — she  told  me  to  ask 
mother  to  let  her  take  us  out  in  the  afternoon.    Joshua 
and  Barbara  had  colds,  and  so  they  didn't  go  out,  but 
only  baby  and  I;  and,   instead  of  taking  us  into  the 
park,  as  she  said  she  would,  she  took  us  to  a  dancing- 
show,  and  made  me  promise  never  to  tell.     I  thought 
the  show  very  pretty,   and  so   I  promised.     Father, 
however,  saw  us  come  out  of  the  show;  it  was  very 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  when  we  got  home,  father 
came  to  the  door  to  let  us  in,  and  asked,  '  Where  have 
you  been?'      Susan  said,  'All  round  the  park,'  and 
pinched  my  arm.    I  knew  what  she  meant,  but  I  didn't 
speak  one  word.      It  was  a  long  way,  Susan  said,  all 
round  the  park,  and  that  baby  was  so  heavy,  and  I 
was  tired,  and  so  we  had  walked  slow.       '  Dare  you 
tell  me  so ! '  said  my  father,  just  in  the  tone  he  speaks 
in  when  he  is  angry.    'You  may  ask  Samuel,'  said  she, 
•if  you  don't  believe  me;'  and  then  she  pinched  my 
I  was  afraid  Susan  would  beat  me  \f  I 


A  CHANGE   FOR  THE  EETTER.  29 

told  th«  truth;  and  so  I  said, '  Yes,  father,  we've  been 
all  round  the  park.'  '  And  nowhere  else?'  asked  n.y 
father?  Susan  bounced  into  the  house,  and  gave  the 
baby  to  mother,  and  said  she  wouldn't  stop  another 
minute  in  the  house.  I  was  so  frightened,  I  did  not 
know  what  to  do;  my  father  took  me  into  the  parlour, 
and  set  me  between  his  knees  and  saifl,  '  Have  you 
been  nowhere  else.  Samuel?'  1  wanted  to  say  yes, 
but  I  said,  no.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear!"  said  the  poor 
child,  with  a  countenance  growing-  quite  pale,  "  I  never 
shall  forget  how  my  father  looked  !  He  beat  me,  far 
worse  than  Susan  beat  Barbara,  and  then  took  me  into 
his  study,  and  then  called  in  my  mother  and  Barbara, 
and  told  them  where  I  had  been,  and  how  I  had  de- 
nied it.  I  think  the  day  of  judgment  must  be  like  that 
day:  my  mother  cried,  and  so  did  Barbara,  and  then 
my  father"  read  in  the  Bible  all  about  wicked  people 
who  had -teld~  lies,  and  how  Ananias  and  Sapphira 
dropp<*d  down  dead,  with  falsehood  on  their  tongue. 
I  thought',  perhaps  I  should  die  too  in  that  way.  I 
dropped  down  on  my  knees,  and  prayed  God  to  for- 
give me,  and  to  have  mercy  upon  me;  my  father  knelt 
down  beside  me,  and  prayed  too.  I  think  I  am  for- 
given, Jane,"  said  the  boy,  a  moment  or  two  afterwards; 
"  my  father  said  he  thought  so  too,  but  that  1  had 
sinned  against  man  as  well  as  against  God,  by  telling  a 
falsehood,  and  that,  therefore,  I  must  suffer  outward 
punishment  and  disgrace;  and  so,  for  all  this  week," 
added  he,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  1  may  not  eat  with  the 
family,  nor  of  what  they  eat — that's  all,  Jane.  I  shall 
never  tell  any  stories  again.  I  thought  at  first  I  would 
not  tell  you,  but  I'm  glad  I  have.  You  will  not  love 
me  less,  will  you — nor  think  worse  of  me  for  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  said  Jane,  wiping  her  eyes, 
"  but  I  love  you  a  deal  better  for  it.  I'm  sure  I  wish 
I  could  make  you  a  little  pudding  unbeknown  to  any- 
body." d2 


80  A  CHANGE   FOR  THE  BETTE». 

Barbara  at  this  moment  came  into  the  room,  and  the 
baby  woke.  Jane  took  it  up,  and  Barbara  whispered  to 
her  brother,  "  I've  been  waitin?  all  this  time,  and  I 
think  Mr.  Walker  never  will  go  !" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Samuel;  "  I've  told  her  all  my- 
self, and  I  feel  a  deal  easier  in  my  mind;  let's  now  go 
into  the  back  yard  and  play." 

Jane  did  not  find  it  possible  to  make  a  little  pudding 
for  Samuel,  unbeknown,  as  she  said,  to  anybody.  Mrs. 
Mainwaring  took  stricter  oversight  of  every  domestic 
movement,  even  than  the  Miss  Cotterills  had  done. 
There  was  not  an  ounce  of  flour,  a  particle  of  rice,  nor 
a  spoonful  of  milk,  that  could  be  used  unobserved. 
"  No  one  knows  what  economy  is,"  said  Mrs.  Main- 
waring  to  her  handmaiden,  "  who  has  not  lived  in  the 
family  of  a  Methodist  preacher;  the  lessons  which  you 
learn  with  me,  Jane,  will  be  useful  to  you  all  the  rest 
of  your  life."  Jane  thought  so  too.  Economy  and 
severe  regularity  were  the  governing  principles  of  that 
small  household;  nothing  was  wasted,  not  even  a 
second  of  time;  every  one  knew  his  duty,  and  the 
exactness  with  which  the  fulfilment  of  every  duty  was 
enforced  made  all  move  like  clockwork.  Day  after 
day,  and  week  after  week  brought  the  same  routine; 
and  if,  to  active  and  impatient  spirits,  this  very  recur- 
rence of  routine  would  have  been  wearisome,  it  had 
likewise  this  advantage,  that  it  became  habit,  which 
is  onlv  a  second  nature.  To  an  observer  interested 
in  the  true  philosophy  of  life,  how  much  could  have 
been  learned  in  the  study  of  that  household!  He  would 
have  seen  how  far  a  little  may  be  made  to  go,  if  people 
know  only  how  to  use  that  little  aright;  hjowself- 
denirtl,  and  the  preferring  of  others  rather  than  our- 
selves, are  not  virtues  of  such  difficult  practice,  even 
to  children  and  servants.  Every  other  week  Mr. 
Mainwaring  was  from  home  on  his  duties  as  itinerant 


A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER.  ■     81 

preacher;  during  the  week  of  his  absence,  the  table 
was  spread  even  more  sparingly:  Jane'sskill  in  cooking 
sufficed  for  the  mother  and  children;  but  when  he  was 
at  home,  the  wife  herself  took  part  in  this,  and  the 
children,  quiet  and  obedient  as  they  generally  were, 
during  this  time  were  doubly  so,  lest  the  father,  who 
studied  in  his  own  room,  should  be  disturbed.  There 
was  something  stern  in  the  Mainwarings,  both  father 
and  mother,  and  yet  the  mother  was  one  whose  heart 
naturally  overflowed  with  love;  her  narrow  circum- 
stances, however,  and  sense  of  duty,  made  her  severe, 
and,  as  regarded  the  children,  made  her  enforce  the 
discipline  which  her  husband  enjoined  with  unyielding 
sternness. 

After  Jane  Ford  had  lived  in  the  family  twelve 
months,  she  came  to  be  regarded  as  somewhat  more 
than  a-servant;  the  children  loved  her  tenderly,  and 
Mr.  fmd-Mr-s-.'-'Mainwaring,  pleased  by  her  uniform 
good'cOnduct,  and  regular  attendance  at  chapel,  where 
she  never  failed  to  join  in  the  hymn — let  it  not  be 
asked  how  much  Mark  Griffiths'  admiration  of  her 
singing  occasioned  this — made  the  pious  hearts  of  the 
preacher  and  his  wife  rejoice.  Much  had  they  striven 
for  the  reformation  of  Jane's  family;  the  preacher  had 
visited  them,  had  prayed  with  them  and  for  them,  and 
so  had  his  wife;  they  had  lent  them  sermons  and 
religious  tracts,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Ford  drank 
just  as  much  as  ever;  the  step-mother  declared  it  was 
no  manner  of  use  their  preachine  to  her,  for  she  must 
have  her  drop  of  gin.  Mima  and  Rachel  loved  dress 
just  as  much  as  ever;  no  one,  in  fact,  would  listen — • 
no  one,  in  fact,  would  be  at  home  when  they  came, 
unless  it  were  poor  little  Letty,  with  the  baby  Sally  in 
her  arms;  and  she,  the  good  people  looked  upon,  for 
some  time,  as  a  brand  plucked  from  the  burning,  and 
used  every  means  in  their  power  to  comfort,  if  not  to 


82  A    CHANGE    FOR    THE    BETTER. 

improve.  But  here  again  a  difficulty  intervened:  Mrs. 
Greaseley,  Letty's  kind  old  friend,  was  a  church-woman, 
and  would  much  rather  her  protege  read  Church  of 
England  prayers  than  any  other  let  them  be  what  they 
would;  and  poor  Letty,  who  had  good  reason  to  follow 
Mrs.  Greaseley's  advice,  appeared  so  seldom  at  the 
chapel,  and  read  to  such  little  purpose  the  tracts  and 
sermons  that  were  lent  her,  that  at  length  even  she 
was  given  up  as  hopeless.  Discouraging,  however, 
as  were  their  attempts  with  Jane's  f.imily.  the  good 
preacher  and  his  w  ife  only  renewed  their  efforts  more 
warmly,  for  what  they  considered  her  salvation:  they 
thought  they  could  almost  compass  land  and  sea,  to 
make  her  a  proselyte,  and  they  hoped  they  had  done  it. 
Everything,  therefore,  that  they  could  do  to  make  her 
comfortable  was  done;  not  certainly  in  the  way  of 
presents,  or  indulgences  of  going  out  to  tea  with  her 
friends,  or  having  her  friends  to  take  tea  with  her,  or 
even  by  increasing  her  wages,  but  by  kindness  and 
consideration;  almost  confidence  and  friendship  were 
shown  to  her  by  the  heads  of  the  house,  whilst  the 
children  loved  her  with  the  most  openhearted  and 
joyous  affection. 

Jane  could  not  be  otherwise  than  happy  in  this 
servitude.  Little  Joshua,  though  a  very  different  child 
to  her  little  brother  Stephen,  who  died  of  the  fever, 
seemed,  however,  almost  to  fill  the  vacuum  which  his 
loss  had  left  in  her  heart.  "  1  thought  I  never  should 
love  a  child  again,  after  poor  Stephen  died,"  said  she 
to  Barbara;  "yet,  someway  or  other,  1  love  Joshua 
almost  as  well." 

"  We  have  never  been  so  happy  in  all  our  lives,  Jane, 
as  we'have  been  since  you  lived  with  us,"  returned  the 
little  girl;  "  Samuel  and  1  both  pray  for  you  every 
night;  and,  do  you  know,  we  pray  God  that  you  may 
never  leave  us."     "  I  never  will  leave  you," said  Jane, 


A    CHANGE    FOR    THE    BETTER.  33 

speaking  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart.  The  little  girl  was 
perfectly  happy;  told  her  brother  what  Jane  had  said — 
but  he  had  never  once  imagined  that  she  would  leave 
them;  told  her  mother  also,  who,  knowing  poor  servants 
better  than  her  daughter,  was  greatly  pleased  also,  and 
that  very  evening  proposed  to  Jane,  that  she  should 
remove  with  them  to  their  new  destination,  let  it  be 
where  it  would,  and  which  would  be  decided  by  the  Con- 
ference of  that  same  summer,  they  then  having  abode 
their  two  years  in  that  town — the  term  of  a  Methodist 
preacher's  residence  in  one  place.  Jane  was  a  little 
taken  by  surprise  by  this  proposal;  still,  the  prospect 
was  not  an  unpleasing  one;  a  journey  with  a  family  she 
liked,  a  residence  in  a  new  place — there  was  novelty 
in  it,  and  she  readily  agreed. 

Mm  Mainw^aring  told  her  one  intimate  Methodist 
friend, <  -Sister  Burder,  as  she  was  called,  and  they 
both  agreed  -that  nothing  could  be  better  than  this 
arrangement. .  "  I  was  afraid,"  said  Sister  Burder,  "  she 
would  have  been  leaving  you  on  account  of  wages;  did 
6he  ask  for  no  advance?"  "  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Main- 
waring;  "  I  myself  expected  that — servants  so  soon  eat 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge:  I  was  afraid  even  of  your 
servarts,  in  this  respect."  "  I  have  warned  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Burder,  who  was  rather  rich,  and  kept  three 
servants,  "  never  to  tell  Jane  what  wages  they  have. 
She  is  a  good  girl,  however,  and  a  jewel  of  a  servant;  I 
shall  give  her  a  new  gown  myself,  one  of  these  days." 

Mrs.  Mainwarine:  was  well  pleased  with  the  proposed 
liberality  of  her  friend,  and  looked  forward  now  to  the 
journey  after  the  Conference  decision,  with  less  anxiety 
than  she  had  hitherto  done. 

One  day,  when  Jane  was  walking  out  with  the  four 
children,  Mark  Griffiths  joined  them.  He  told  Jane  he 
had  followed  them  all  the  way,  for  he  had  something  to 
jay  to  her.  Jane  coloured,  and  wondered  to  herself  what 


84  A    CHANGE    FOR    THE    BETTER-. 

it  was,  while  Mark  thought  she  got  prMiner 
prettier  every  day.  He  said  he  was  soiu^  to  tea^-d 
Nottingham;  that  he  was  going  to  Sheffield,  wnwro  »*e 
had  an  offer  of  better  wages. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure!"  was  Jane's  exclamatory  reply, 
and  then  she  stooped  down  to  fasten  the  clasp  of 
Joshua's  shoe.  Mark  said  he  was  to  set  off  next 
Monday,  and  that  his  mother  would  ask  Jane's  sisters, 
Rachel,  Letty,  and  little  Sally,  to  drink  tea  with  her  on 
Sunday,  if  she  thought  her  mistress  would  let  her 
come:  he  hoped  she  would,  he  said,  for  it  would  be 
such  a  time  before  they  should  drink  tea  together 
asrain.  Jane  of  course  said  she  hoped  her  mistress 
would;  she  did  not  know,  however,  for  she  had  never 
asked  such  a  thing.  She  said  she  was  very  sorry  Mark 
was  goinsr,  and  she  really  did  hope  her  mistress  would 
let  her  take  tea  with  his  mother.  She  blushed  very 
much  again,  but  she  looked  sorrowful,  which,  odd  as  it 
may  sound,  pleased  Mark  not  a  little,  for  he  was  glad  to 
think  Jane  liked  him  well  enough  to  be  sorry  he  was 
going.  "  I  hope  I  shall  get  good  wages  in  Sheffield," 
said  he,  "and  then  I  shall  come  and  see  mother;  and 
I  shall  be  so  proud,  Jane,  if  you  have  not  forgot  me." 

"  Well,  I  hope  missis  will  let  me  come,"  was  Jane's 
reply. 

Mark  said  he  hoped  she  would,  and  his  mother 
hoped  so  too;  and  that  his  mother  thought  she  would 
like  to  see  Rachel  and  Letty,  and  little  Sally,  and  so 
she  would  ask  them. 

Mark  walked  on  with  Jane  and  the  children,  and, 
not  forgetting  the  expression  of  her  countenance  when 
she  heard  he  was  going,  besrun  to  tell  her  how  much 
he  had  liked  her,  when  they  were  two  children  in 
Bartram's  Court  together,  and  how  he  never  should 
foraret  her  as  long  as  ever  he  lived;  upon  which,  he 
took  her  hand.     This  in  the  open  park,  where  people 


A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER.  35 

were  walking,  and  before  the  children  too,  Jane  thought 
was  not  to  be  allowed;  she  snatched  her  hand  away, 
and  told  him,  he  really  must  go,  and  that  she  would 
send  his  mother  word  the  next  day. 

The  little  Mainwarings  were  not  cunning  children, 
and  withal  were  as  innocent  as  lambs;  so  they  thought 
nothing  of  Mark's  joining  them,  nor  of  Jane's  peculiar 
manner,  which,  to  anybody  with  any  experience  in  life, 
or  any  suspicions,  would  have  looked  extremely  like 
affection  on  both  sides.  Samuel,  therefore,  linked  his 
arm  on  to  Jane's,  as  soon  as  Mark  had  left  them,  and 
said,  "  He  goes  to  chapel,  Jane."  Barbara  said  he 
often  sate  near  their  own  pew,  and  often  carried  out 
little  Joshua  when  he  had  dropped  asleep:  it  was  Mrs. 
Griffiths^ -son— she  knew  him  very  well. 

"  He's.a^);y:tioular  friend  of  mine,"  said  Jane;  "and 
now  hre'sgoin?  a  long  way  off — to  Sheffield." 

"  My  iMicleHanbury  lives  at  Sheffield,"  said  Samuel; 
"  I  wonder  whether  he'll  see  him:  he's  a  preacher  too. 
Do  you  think  he  will  so  to  his  chapel,  Jane?" 

Jane  said  she  could  not  tell,  but  she  thought  he 
perhaps  would;  she  was  sure  he  would,  if  he  knew  that 
he  was  their  uncle,  for  Mark  Griffiths  knew  how  much 
she  loved  them. 

The  poor  children  were  quite  grateful;  and  Barbara, 
who  had  been  walking  with  little  Joshua,  asked  Samuel 
to  take  his  hand  now,  that  she  mi^ht  walk  with  Jane; 
for  that  she  could  not  take  her  other  arm,  on  account 
of  the  baby.  Samuel  did  as  his  sister  wished;  and 
then  Jane  asked  them  if  they  thougrht  their  mother 
would  let  her  drink  tea  with  Mrs.  Griffiths  on  Sunday. 
The  children  said  they  would  ask;  and  accordingly, 
the  moment  they  entered  the  house,  they  did  so. 
Jane  never  felt  so  interested  in  a  yes  or  a  no  in  her 
life  before,  and  on  that  account  she  carried  the  baby 
into  the  kitchen,  to  take  off  its  things  there.     Mrs. 


36  A  CHANGE  FOR  THE  BETTER. 

Mainwaring,  who  had  her  own  private  reasons  for 
wishing  her  maid-servant  not  to  have  much  inter- 
course with  those  out  of  her  own  family,  Mas  some- 
what dissatisfied  by  the  request,  and  would  not  give  a 
positive  answer.  Jane  got  quite  into  a  fever  of  impa- 
tience, and  thought  it  would  be  very  unkind  if  her 
mistress  refused  her  this  one  favour — the  only  favour 
of  the  kind  she  had  ever  asked. 

Mrs.  Mainwaring  turned  the  request  over  and  over 
in  her  mind:  this  kind  of  out-of-doors  intercourse  she 
feared;  she  had  always  set  her  face  against  it.  "  Ser- 
vants meet  together  thus,  and  compare  wages  and 
styles  of  living,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  aud  mischief 
comes  of  it."  She  shall  not  go,  reasoned  the  stern  part 
of  her  nature;  the  kinder  part  suggested  how  faith- 
fully Jane  had  served  her;  how  she  had  never  gone 
out  to  take  tea  with  her  friends  before;  how  respect- 
able a  woman  was  Mrs.  Griffiths,  and  a  member  of  the 
Methodist  connexion  too.  She  questioned  and  ques- 
tioned with  herself,  and  at  last  resolved  to  be  both 
kind  and  prudent — to  warn  Jane,  yet  to  let  her  go. 

She  called  Jane  into  the  parlour,  after  the  children 
were  in  bed,  to  sit  down  to  work.  The  Bible  and 
hymn  book  lay  on  the  table;  but  Mrs.  Mainwaring 
looked  more  thoughtful  than  common. 

"  You  wish  to  take  tea  with  your  friends  on  Sunday," 
said  she;  "you  may  go — but  of  one  thing  let  me  warn 
you,  Jane:  I  have  seldom  indulged  a  servant,  even  in 
small  things,  without  receiving  an  ill  return.  I  am 
sorry  you  have  made  this  request:  I  wish  you  had 
not:  and  only  because  I  have  more  than  ordinary  con- 
fidence in  you,  I  grant  it."  Jane  did  not  understand 
her  mistress  farther  than  that  she  permitted  her  to  go, 
and  warned  her  against  ingratitude.  She  thought 
there  was  no  danger  of  that;  and,  in  the  fulness  of  her 
heart,  began  to  make  warm  professions. 


THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT.  37 

*  Actions,  Jane,"  said  her  mistress,  coolly,  "  ate 
better  than  words :  we  will  now  read  our  evening 
portion  of  scripture."  Mrs.  Mainw  aring  read  the  his- 
tory of  Ruth;  for  she  hoped  the  attachment  of  the 
young  Moabitess  to  her  mother-in-law  might  be  a 
useful  example  to  her  handmaiden.  Jane,  however, 
thought  much  less  of  this  than  of  the  beautiful  old 
love-story;  which,  though  occurring  so  many  thousand 
years  ago,  found  an  echo  in  her  own  secret  breast. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

i  THE    BEST    NOT    PERFECT. 

The  next  Sunday  afternoon  was  as  fine  as  a  Sunday 
afternoon  in  May  could  be.  Jane  met  Mark  Grif- 
fiths and  her  sister  Rachel,  not  far  from  her  master's 
door,  coming  to  meet  her;  and  all  three  set  off  for  a 
walk  before  tea — two  of  them  as  happy  as  if  there  were 
no  partings  in  this  world. 

Tea  stood  ready  in  the  widow  Griffiths'  kitchen  by 
four  o'clock — for  she  did  not  go  to  chapel  that  after- 
noon—  when  Letty  and  little  Sally  arrived.  Good  Mrs. 
Griffiths!  she  had  twice  swept  up  her  hearth,  and 
twice  wiped  out  the  tea-cups,  lest  any  dust  had  settled 
in  them,  and  a  dozen  times,  at  least,  had  looked  at  a 
letter,  bearing  the  Bristol  post-mark,  which  the  post- 
man had  that  very  afternoon  brought  in,  directed  to 
"Jane  Ford,  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Griffiths."  And 
now  she  was  for  the  third  time  filling  up  the  kettle, 
regretting  that  the  tea  would  not  be  half  so  good,  be- 
cause the  spirit  would  have  boiled  out  of'the  water,  when 
Letty,  who  sate  peeping  under  the  muslin  blind  of  the 
window,  with  little  Sally  seated  on  the  table  before 
her,  announced  that  the  three  were  corning;  and  the 

s 


88  THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT. 

next  moment  they  entered,  looking  so  fresh  and  happy 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  them.  Little  Sally  was 
kissed,  and  Letty  was  kissed,  and  Mrs.  Griffiths'  hand 
was  cordially  shaken,  before  Jane  was  made  aware 
that  a  letter  "from  her  brother  had  for  certain  arrived. 

The  tea-cakes,  which  had  been  kept  hot  in  the  oven, 
were  buttered;  and  Mark  bustled  about  to  set  the 
chairs,  while  Jane  and  Rachel  hastily  glanced  over  the 
fetter.  "  Come,  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Griffiths,  as  cheerful 
as  could  be,  "  sit  you  down,  and  drink  a  drop  of  tea, 
and  take  a  bite,  and  then  finish  the  letter."  Jane, 
however,  had  to  answer  many  questions  about  the 
contents  of  the  letter  while  she  was  taking  off  her 
things,  and  even  after  she  had  sate  down  in  the  chair 
which  Mark  had  kept  for  her  next  to  himself,  and  had 
spread  her  clean  pocket-handkerchief  on  her  knee  to 
keep  the  crumbs  of  the  well-buttered  and  crisp  tea- 
cakes  from  greasing  her  best  gown.  The  letter,  how- 
ever had,  some  way  or  other,  made  Jane  grave, 
although  she  protested  it  was  "  the  cheerfullest  and 
nicest  letter  in  the  world;"  and  so  Mrs.  Griffiths 
declared  that  not  another  word  should  be  said  about 
it  till  after  tea. 

The  tea  was  capital,  although  the  hostess  contended 
that  the  spirit  had  boiled  out  of  the  water;  and  there 
was  such  plenty  to  eat,  that  nearly  three  quarters  of 
a  tea-cake  were  left,  when  everybody  had  done. 
Letty,  poor  child,  thought  what  a  heavenly  thing  it 
must  be  to  go  out  to  tea  two  or  three  times  a  week,  as 
she  had  an"  idea  of  some  people's  doing;  whilst  little 
:Sally,'in  her  full  enjoyment  of  three  pleasures  at  once, 
good  eating,  and  drinking,  and  warmth,  added  yet  a 
fourth,  and  sank  into  balmy  sleep  in  Letty's  arms. 

After  tea,  the  shutters  were  closed,  a  candle  lighted, 
and  they  all  drew  round  the  comfortable  hearth,  to 
.hear  .as. much  of  her  brother's  letter  as  Jane  chose  to 


THE    BEST    NOT    PERFECT.  39 

read.  She  glanced  over,  but  omitted  to  read  the  first 
half,  and  then  read  aloud  as  follows  : — 

"  I  received  your  letter  dated  last  January  twelvemonth,  and  that  is 
the  latest  news  1  have  had  directly  from  you.  I  need  not  tell  you 
how  earnestly  I  wish  you  well,  nor  how  affectionately  I  love  you.  I 
was  thinking  over  one  day,  twelvemonths  ago,  our  happy  childhood, 
when  we  gathered  crocuses  together  in  the  meadows;  and  as  I  sate 
in  the  frame  next  day,  I  composed  a  poem  on  the  subject:  I  would 
have  sent  it  to  you,  but  I  had  no  private  opportunity.  I  took  to 
composing  a  deal  of  poetry,  as  I  worked  in  the  frame:  it  amused  my 
thoughts,  when  otherwise  I  should  have  been  wretched  enough;  but 
of  this  I  have  more  to  say  presently.  I  left  Tiverton  eight  months 
ago— which  was  a  good  day's  work — and  engaged  myself  to  a  Mr. 
Davenport,  who  had  come  over  from  the  East  Indies,  on  account  of 
his  health.  I  should  have  remained  longer  with  him,  but  the  time  of 
his  stay  was  over,  and  he  would  not  let  me  return  with  him  to  Madras. 
He  has  been  my  kindest  friend:  with  him  I  came  to  Bristol,  and  found 
myself  there  with  five  pounds  in  my  pocket,  and  a  good  suit  of 
clothes  on  my  back.  He  encouraged  me  to  read  and  improve  my 
mind,  ai'ifl  at  his  de*ire  I  copied  out  all  the  poems  I  had  ever  written. 
When  he^hrff  lie  gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  editor  of  the 

,  rjie  .ftrs^p  papej-.here.     From  this  gentleman  I  have  received 

great  encouragement.  This  week  one  of  my  poems  will  be  published, 
and  I  hope  hr  may  be  able  to  give  me  a  situation  on  the  paper,  which 
he  has  half  -promised.  I  already  feel  that  I  have  powers  of  mind, 
given  me  for  great  and  good  purposes;  nor  will  I  abuse  these  gifts. 
1  will  be  no  hireling,  nor  anything  less  than  what  God  intended  me 
for — an  honest  man;  which  the  poet  says  truly,  '  is  his  noblest  work.' 

"  Since  I  wrote  the  above,  a  Mr.  Jukes,  who  has  read  my  poem  in 

the ,  has  sent  for  me.     He  is  a  gentleman  of  literary  taste — the 

Aorld  says,  a  poet  himself — although  in  trade.  He  said  many  com- 
plimentary things  to  me,  and  ended  by  offering  me  half  a  sovereign. 
Thank  God!  I  have  no  need  of  charity,  so  I  respectfully  declined  the 
money. 

'•  I  feel  that  I  am  making  my  way  in  the  world.  I  will  not  go, 
therefore,  to  Canada,  or  the  Cape,  as  I  once  thought  of.  Dear  old 
England  !  1  will  stand  by  her  and  her  noble  sons  to  the  last !  Oh, 
that  our  poor  dear  mother  could  know  my  good  fortune!  I  wrote  a 
'  Sonnet  to  the  Memory  of  a   Beloved   Mother,' a  month  or  two  ago, 

which  1  will  give  to  the ,  because  I  think  it  one  of  my  best 

poems.  I  will  then  send  you  a  copy.  I  shall  post  you  the  — ^— 
to-morrow,  that  you  may  see  my  first  poem  in  print. 

"  Write  to  me  'To  be  left  at  the Office,  Bristol.' 

"  Give  my  love  to  father,  Rachel,  and  Letty,  and  do  not  omit  to  kiss 
poor  little  Sally  for  me.  My  love  to  Mrs.  G.,  and  to  Mark,  both  of 
whom  will  rejoice  in  my  good  fortune.  1  am,  dear  Jane,  your 
affectionate  brother,  John  Ford. 

"  P.  S.  If  I  come  to  have  any  prosperity,  I  shall  doI  fail  to  share  it 
with  those  who  are  dear  to  me." 


40  THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT. 

Jane  wiped  her  eyes  two  or  three  times  during  the 
reading  of  this  letter,  which  everybody  agreed  "  was  a 
very  nice  letter  indeed;"  and  they  all  agreed,  likewise, 
that  there  was  just  cause  to  rejoice  in  Joln.'s  pros- 
pects, for  that  certainly  a  long  vista  of  glory  and  profit 
was  opening  before  him;  whilst  good  Mrs.  Griffiths 
protested  that  she  had  always  thought  he  had  a  won- 
derful head-piece.  She  should  like  to  know,  she  said, 
how  many  times  she  had  told  his  poor  dear  mother  so: 
and  then  she  suggested  to  Jane,  whether  Mr.  Main- 
waring  would  not  get  some  of  John's  poetry  put  into 
the  Methodist  Magazine.  Lots  of  people  read  the 
Methodist  Magazine  in  Nottingham;  and  it  would  be 
such  a  fine  thing  for  them  to  know  what  John  had 
done  !    Jane  thought  so  too,  and  so  did  Mark  Griffiths. 

"  There's  a  part  of  the  letter,"  said  Rachel,  inter- 
rupting the  conversation  about  the  poetry,  in  which 
she  had  taken  no  part,  "that  Jane  hasn't  read;  but  I 
don't  care  your  knowing  it,  and  so  I'll  tell  you  myself. 
John  has  heard  all  about  Mima  Higgius,  and  he  is 
afraid  that  she  will  make  me  no  better  than  herself.  He 
thinks  I  am  getting  no  good  at  home — nor  am  I  —  but 
what  can  I  do?  I  won't  go  out  to  service,  and  so  it's 
no  use  John  or  anybody  else  urging  it :  I'm  not  like 
Jane;  I  shouldn't  stop  in  my  place  a  month  !  It's  no 
pleasure  to  me,"  continued  Rachel,  seeing  nobody 
inclined  to  answer  her,  "to  stop  at  home:  1  can  save 
no  money;  there's  nothing  but  poverty  and  dirt  and 
quarrelling  at  home;  I  hate  the  very  sight  of  my  own 
door!  What  am  I  to  do?"  asked  Rachel  again,  the 
tears  starting  to  her  eyes,  from  passion  rather  than 
grief.  Jane  laid  her  hand  kindly  on  her  sister's  arm, 
and  Letty  cried  quietly  to  herself.  "Just  take  a  place, 
Rachel  dear,"  said  Jane;  "  it's  not  so  bad  as  you  fancy." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  to  Australia,"  returned  Rachel, 
"where  women  are  so  much  wanted!" 


THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT.  41 

"Oh,  for  goodness'  sake,  Rachel,  don't  talk  so!" 
exclaimed  both  Jane  and  Mrs.  Griffiths,  in  the  same 
breath. 

"  Miss  Lineham,  the  new  dressmaker,  in  the  market- 
place," said  Rachel,  "  would  take  nie,  lor  five  pounds, 
for  three  years,  it"  anybody  would  find  me  clothes  for 
that  time;  or  for  ten  pounds,  and  find  me  clothes  her- 
self. I  know  lots  of  her  girls,  all  so  well  dressed  and 
so  comfortable!  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  a 
dressmaker's  apprentice — anything  almost,  but  what 
law!"    * 

"  Oh,  Jiaehel,  dear,  don't  talk  so  !"  exclaimed  Jane. 
'  "  There's  no  harm  in  talking  so,"  returned  Rachel; 
"  I  do  wish  it;  for  you  don't  know,  Jane,  what  a 
miserable  home  I  have!  Lord,  what  a  lbol  I  am!" 
continued  Kachel,  determining  not  to  cry,  though  the 
tears  dimmed  her  eyes;  "  I  look  and  look  as  I  go 
along  the  streets,  to  see  if  I  can't  find  some  money. 
Mima  Hiugins,  who  everybody  knows  is  not  a  good 
girl,  gives  me  bad  advice;  but  I  am  determined  not  to 
follow  it.  No,  Jane,  you  needn't  look  so.  I'm  not 
going  to  do  as  Mima  has  done — I'll  keep  a  good  name, 
if  it's  only  tor  poor  mother's  sake.  But,  oh!"  con- 
tinued she,  in  a  tone  of  deep  bitterness,  "  who,  after 
all,  shall  say  what  he  will  do,  or  what  he  will  not  do, 
when  he  wants  money  ?  I  pray  God  to  keep  me  out 
of  temptation:  and  yet,  by  one  means  or  another,  I 
must  get  my  o\ui  living — but  not  by  service:  I  must 
be  a  dressmaker — I've  set  my  mind  on  it  !" 

Mrs.  Giiffiths,  who  always  thought  Rachel  proud, 
and  with  whom,  in  fact,  she  was  no  favourite,  found 
much  to  d'sapprove  of  in  Rachel's  speech:  she  made 
no  remark,  nevertheless. 

"  It  1  (inly  got  good  wages,"  said  Jane,  sorrowfully, 
"I  would  help  you — that  I  would,, with  all  my  heart!" 

"And  if  I'd"  five  pounds,"  said  Mark,  "I'd  lend 
e2 


42  THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT. 

them  to  you;  and  you  could  pay  me  again  when  you 
worked  for  yourself." 

"  Fine  talking,  Mark!"  said  his  mother,  with  a  very 
reproving  glance  at  her  son;  "but,  however,"  conti- 
nued she,  addressing  Jane,  "you  don't  get  proper 
wages — five  pounds  a  year  tor  a  girl  like  you ! — why, 
that's  nothing:  there  is  not  a  shop-keeper's  servant 
that  does  not  get  ten."  Jane  said  she  certainly  should 
have  left  before,  only  the  place  was  so  comfortable, 
and  she  was  so  fond  of  the  children.  She  had  half 
promised,  she  said,  to  go  with  them  to  their  next  place 
of  residence,  after  the  Conference,  and  she  had  made 
no  fresh  agreement  about  wages.  Mrs.  Griffiths  said 
she  had  not  done  well;  and  that,  for  her  part,  she 
thought  Mrs.  Mainvvaring  ought  not  in  justice  to  wish 
her  to  stay  so  much  to  her  disadvantage:  everybody, 
she  said,  took  care  of  their  own  interests — there  was 
no  harm  in  that:  Mrs.  Mainwaring  did  so,  in  keeping 
a  servant  like  Jane  at  low  wages;  but  a  servant  must 
do  the  best  for  herself;  youth  and  strength  did  not 
come  twice  in  a  man's  life,  and  it  was  everybody'9 
duty  to  make  hay  while  the  sun  shone.  Mrs.  Main- 
waring  could  not  blame  her,  nor  could  anybody,  for 
getting  the  highest  rate  of  wages  which  any  one  would 
give  to  a  good  servant."  Jane  remarked,  that  if  she 
had  received  seven  or  eisht  pounds  the  last  year,  she 
could  have  spared  something  for  poor  Rachel. 

"Fiddle-sticks-end  of  poor  Rachel!",  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Griffiths,  regardless  that  Rachel  was  sitting  by* 
"  take  care  of  yourself,  girl,  and  save  for  yourself  against 
a  rainy  day.  Rachel  will  get  sense  in  time,  and  go 
out  to  service!" 

"Never!"  exclaimed  Rachel;  "I  never  shall;  I 
have  not  temper  good  enough  for  service;  I'm  no^ 
like  Jane,  and  there's  none  of  us  is  like  Jane:  she's 
more  of  mother  in  her  than  any  of  us;  and  oh,  Jane  !" 


THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT.  43 

said  she,  speaking  with  a  tearful  earnestness  that  went 
to  her  sister's  heart,  "if  yon  would  only  stand  in 
mother's  place  to  me,  and  help  me  to  leave  home  and 
get  some  respectahle  trade  in  my  fingers,  I  should 
bless  you  to  the  day  of  my  death  !" 

Jane  wiped  away  her  own  tears,  and,  giving  her 
hand  to  her  sister,  said  she  would  help  her  all  that  ever 
lay  in  her  power;  that  she  would  get  as  good  wages 
as  ever  she  could;  and  the  first  money  that  she  could 
spare  she  would  lend  or  give  to  her  sister,  in  part,  as 
appfentiee-fee.  Master  Griffiths  also,  spite  of  his 
■HXtbar's^isapproving  glance,  declared,  that  if  he  cot 
gfeod  work  in  Sheffield,  he  also  would  lend  something; 
and  Letty,  who  during  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
been  trying  to  speak,  but  found  no  opportunity,  said 
now,  that  she  too  had  half-a-guinea  in  the  Savings' 
Bank,  which  had  been  given  to  her  by  good  Mrs, 
Greaseley,  and  she  would  ask  permission  to  lend  it 
also  to  Rachel.  Jane  kissed  Letty,  and  Rachel  called 
her  a  good  little  thing;  and  the  hearts  of  all  three  were 
warmed  with  sentiments  of  generosity  and  affection. 

Again  Mrs.  Griffiths  turned  to  the  subject  of  Jane's 
present  servitude,  and  set  before  her,  in  as  strong  light 
as  she  could,  the  desirableness  of  amending  her  con- 
dition. She  promised  Jane  to  inquire  out  everywhere 
for  a  good  situation  for  her;  and  Jane,  on  her  part, 
promised  to  lose  no  time  in  giving  her  mistress  warn- 
ing to  leave.  Jane,  at  fi  1— t,  had  demurred  as  to  this: 
she  proposed  to  remain  till  after  Conference,  and  only 
give  notice  that  she  could  not  remove  with  them  to  ano- 
ther place.  Mr<.  Griffiths  replied, that  she  understood 
the  Methodist  connexion  there  would  not  part  with  Mr. 
Mainwaring  yet  for  two  years;  therefore,  the  sooner 
Jane  left  the  better;  and  Jane  promised  accordingly. 

Mark  walked  home  with  Jane.  She  wondered  how 
it  was  he  spoke  so  little  to  her  all  the  way— never 


44  THE   BEST  NOT  PERFECT. 

considering  that  she  herself  likewise  did  not  speak 
three  words.  Mark  said,  at  parting,  that  he  had 
nothing-  to  give  her  for  a  keepsake  but  a  ring  which 
had  been  his  grandmother's  :  it  was  pure  gold,  he  said, 
and  his  grandmother  had  been  a  very  good  woman, 
had  lived  happily  with  her  husband,  and  all  her  chil- 
dren had  turned  out  well:  so  he  hoped  it  would  be  a 
lucky  gift  for  Jane,  if  «he  would  only  keep  it  for  his 
sake.  He  scarcely  stopped  to  be  thanked;  and,  before 
Jane  rang  at  the  door,  she  stayed  at  leas*,  three  minutes 
to  wipe  away  the  tears  with  which  this  unexpected 
little  parting  gift  had  filled  them. 

She  came  home,  nevertheless,  in  good  time.  It  was 
only  ten  minutes  past  nine  when  she  entered,  and  she 
had"  cleared  all  the  supper  things  away  before  the 
parlour-bell  rang  for  prayers. 

The  next  morning,  while  Jane  was  preparing  dinner, 
Mrs.  Griffiths  made  her  appearance.  She  had  come 
about  a  newspaper— the  one  from  John,  no  doubt — 
which  the  postman  had  that  morning  brought,  and  for 
which  he  demanded  sixteen  shillings  and  some  odd 
pence.  There  was  writing  inside  the  paper,  the  man 
said,  and  therefore  it  cost  so  much.  It  was  impossible 
to  receive  the  paper  at  that  price;  but  what  a  morti- 
fication that  was!  for  thus  she  should  never  see  the 
poem  John  had  written.  Mrs.  Griffiths  said,  perhaps 
Mr.  Mainwaring  would  call  at  the  post-office  about  it: 
they  would,  maybe,  let  him  have  it  without  paying. 
Jane  said  she  was  sure  her  master  would  do  anything 
he  could  for  her;  and  her  mistress  coming  in  the 
kitchen  at  that  moment,  Jane  told  her  the  dilemma  of 
the  newspaper,  and  showed  her  also  her  brother's 
letter.  Mrs.  Mainwaring  was  quite  enthusiastic  about 
the  letter,  about  its  writer,  and  about  the  newspaper 
he  had  sent:  thev  would  get  it  for  her,  if  possible,  she 
said,  and  Jane  must  immediately  write  to  her  brother. 


THE  BEST   NOT  PERFECT.  45 

to  warn  him  of  the  error  of  writing  in  newspapers. 
Jane  should  have  time  to  write,  she  said;  more  espe- 
cially as  such  a  brother  as  John  seemed  to  be  was  not 
to  be  found  every  day.  Mr.  Mainwaring  did  all  in 
his  power  to  obtain  the  newspaper  from  the  post-office, 
but  to  no  purpose;  without  sixteen  shillings  and 
eightpence  it  was  not  to  be  had.  To  console  her, 
however,  for  this,  Mr.  Mainwaring  said,  if  her  brother 
would  send  him  some  poetry,  and  he  approved  it,  he 
wquld  certainly  get  it  printed  in  the  Methodist  Maga- 
zi«%"niid  that  would  be  better  than  writing  in  news- 
papers^ 

'The  kindness  of  the  Mainwarings,  and  the  lively 
interest  they  seemed  to  take  about  her  brother,  went 
to  Jane's  heart.  Every  act  of  kindness  from  them 
made  it  more  difficult  for  her  to  give  warning  to  leave; 
yet,  every  time  she  saw  Mrs.  Griffiths,  the  necessity  of 
so  doing  was  impressed  upon  her,  whilst  Rachel  became 
almost  importunate.  "  Well,  I  don't  believe  you  ever 
mean  to  get  money  to  help  me,"  said  Rachel,  at  last; 
"and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  thought  you 
would!" 

Jane  felt  it  very  unkind  of  Rachel  to  say  so;  yet, 
why  did  she  not  give  Mrs.  Mainwaring  notice?  VVhy 
not  put  herself  in  a  condition  to  accept  one  of  those 
many  places  of  good  wages  which  Mrs.  Griffiths  told 
her  of?  Jane  almost  wished  that  Mrs.  Mainwaring 
would  take  to  scolding,  as  her  former  mistresses  had 
done,  that  she  might  have  some  plea  on  which  to 
speak.  She  determined,  therefore,  to  open  her  heart 
to  her,  and  ask  her  consent  to  leave,  rattier  than  insist 
on  leaving.  Day  after  day,  however,  went  on,  and 
Jane  still  put  off  speaking  till  tin;  morrow. 

She  was  pondering  with  herself,  and  knitting  a  stock- 
jig,  one  afternoon,  with  the  four  children  playing 
about  her,  when  Barbara,  who  was  making  straight 


46  THE  BEST   NOT  PERFECT. 

the  kitchen  drawers,  suddenly  began:—"  I  am  so  glad 
vou  are  going  with  us  when  we  leave! — I  wonder 
where  we  shall  go  next!" 

"  I  remember  so  well  our  coming  here,"  said  Samuel, 
"and  all  the  journey  from  Whitehaven:  we  had  no 
servant  with  us,  and"  Joshua  was  so  ill  in  the  night — 
and  Annie  wasn't  born — it  was  so  uncomfortable!" 

"  Father  was  outside  the  coach,"  said  Barbara,  "  and 
we  were  inside,  mother  and  us  three  children.  There 
was  an  old  gentleman  and  a  lady  too  in  the  coach,  and 
we  were  so  hot  and  crowded.  Father  came,  whenever 
the  coach  stopped,  to  see  how  we  were;  and,  at  last, 
he  took  Samuel  outside:  do  you  remember,  Samuel?" 

Samuel  said  he  remembered  it  very  well,  and  re- 
membered too  how  poorly  he  was,  for  he  was  just 
beginning  of  the  measles,  and  so  was  Joshua;  but 
nobody  knew,  till  they  got  to  Nottingham,  what  was 
amiss  with  them,  and  he  did  not  like  to  complain,  be- 
cause poor  Joshua  was  so  troublesome,  and  their 
mother  was  so  tired.  Barbara  said  their  next  journey 
would  be  a  deal  pleasanter,  because  Jane  would  be 
with  them,  and  they  were  all  bigger  now,  and  quite 

well. 

The  children  threw  their  arms  round  Jane's  neck, 
and  kissed  her,  and  said  she  did  not  know  how  fond 
they  were  of  her.  "  Well !  "  they  exclaimed,  "  it  was 
the  queerest  thing  that  ever  was,  that  Jane  should 
begin  to  cry!"  Jane  did  not  tell  them  why  she  cried, 
but  determined  that  very  night  to  open  her  heart  to 
their  mother. 

How  difficult  it  is  to  do  the  very  simplest  thing, 
when  we  have  long  procrastinated  it!  Jane  felt 
almost  sick  as  she  knocked  that  night  at  the  parlour- 
door,  alter  the  children  were  gone  to  bed,  and  asked 
permission  to  speak  to  her  mistress.  Mrs.  Burder 
had  just  left  her;  and,  having  told  Mrs.  Mainwaring 


THE  BEST   NOT  PERFECT.  47 

that  the  Methodist  body  in  Nottingham  would  cer- 
tainly petition  Conference  to  let  Mr.  Mainwaring 
remain  where  he  was,  she  looked  quite  happy.  Jane 
did  not  begin  on  her  own  business  the  moment  she 
entered;  and,  her  mistress  not  noticing  how  troubled 
she  looked,  said  cheerfully  to  her,  "  I  can  tell  you 
something,  Jane,  that  will  certainly  please  you — we 
are  not  likely  to  leave  Nottingham.  You  may  thus 
stay  among  your  own  friends." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Jane — "on  your  account,  at 
least?"  "she'*  would  have  added;  but  Mrs.  Mainwaring, 
full  of  her,.oivn  satisfaction,  continued,  "  That  constant 
change  to  which  a  preacher's  family  is  subjected  has 
always  been  painful  to  me — it  impresses  on  my  mind 
so  sorrowfully,  that  here  indeed  we  have  no  abiding 
city.  I  can  look  round  with  pleasure  on  our  small 
rooms,  which  have  begun  to  look  like  home.  We  had 
a  painful  journey  from  Whitehaven  here — the  children 
ill,  and  myself  unfit  for  the  journey;  and,  although 
our  next  must  have  been  less  irksome,  still  I  dreaded 
it.  I  bless  God  that  he  has  vouchsafed  a  gracious 
answer  to  my  prayers  !" 

"  Oh,  dear,  ma'am,"  said  Jane,  "  I've  had  something 
on  my  mind  a  long  time  to  tell  you." 

Mrs.  Mainwaring,  who  had  been  looking  for  Jane's 
proselytism,  thought  a  confession  of  it  was  now  coming, 
and  bade  her,  very  kindly,  to  sit  down.  Jane  did  not 
sit  down,  but  continued  to  speak—"  I  hope,  ma'am, 
what  I  am  going  to  say  won't  make  you  angrv — but 
my  family's  very  poor:  I  want  to  raise  a  little  money 
towards  Rachel's  going  to  dress-making.  There's  no- 
body they  can  look  to  so  naturally  as  me.  I  must  try 
to  get  as  good  wages  as  I  can.  I  hope  you  won't  be 
displeased,"  said  Jane,  seeing  a  change  come  over  her 
mistress's  countenance;  "  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you  for 
•o  long,  but  someway  I  couldn't  make  my  mind  up  to 


48  THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT. 

it.  My  wages  are  but  small  here,'"  continued  the 
poor  girl,  tremulously;  "  but  I  am  so  fona  of  the  place, 
and  especially  of  the  children,  that  1  wouldn't  have 
left,  only  for  helping  Rachel." 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be,  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Main- 
waring,  coldly,  "  when  I  gave  you  permission  to  go 
out  to  tea  that  afternoon.  This  is  always  the  case! 
Mrs.  Griffiths  ought  to  have  known  better  than  have 
made  you  dissatisfied  with  your  place,  Jane." 

"  Mrs.  Griffiths,"  said  Jane,  not  quite  adhering  to 
the  truth,  "  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  John  thinks, 
as  you  saw  in  his  letter,  just  as  I  do — that  Rache' 
ought  not  to  be  at  home.  She  won't  go  to  service; 
there's  no  harm  in  being  a  dressmaker — that's  what 
she  wants;  and  I  only  wish  I  had  the  money  to  put 
her  out  to-morrow.  Everybody  knows,"  continued 
Jane,  "  that  poor  people  wish  to  better  their  con- 
dition." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Mainwaring,  "  you  may  take 
service,  Jane,  where  you'll  get  higher  wages;  but  will 
you  be  as  comfortable? — will  you  be  as  much  out  of  the 
way  of  temptation? — will  you,  after  all.be  abletosave 
much  out  of  your  high  wages? — for  servants  that  get 
high  wages  get  extravagant  notions,  and  spend  their 
money  as  it  comes,  in  folly.  But  I  must  say,  Jane," 
added  her  mistress,  in  a  cold  and  angry  voice,  "  this 
is  a  return  from  you  which  I  did  not  expect — which  I 
have  not  deserved;  and  Mrs.  Griffiths,  I  say  it  again, 
has  stepped  out  of  her  duty  to  counsel  you  thus." 

"  Oh  dear,  ma'am,  don't  blame  Mrs.  Griffiths,"  said 
Jane;  "what  I  have  done  is  out  of  my  own  head!" 

"  You  have  not  used  me  well,  Jane,  in  this  affair," 
returned  her  mistress;  "and  I  am  extremely  hurt  by 
your  conduct."  The  manner  of  Mrs.  Mainwaring  told 
Jane  that  the  conference  was  ended  ;  and,  dissatisfied 
with  the  impression  she  had  made,  she  sate  down  in 


THE    BEST  NOT  PERFECT,  49 

the  kitchen,  and  thought  that  servant-girls,  even  in  the 
best  of  places,  were  the  most  miserable  beings  in  the 
world. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  next  morning,  Mrs. 
Mainwaring  went  to  Mrs.  Griffiths.  It  was  a  usual 
thing  for  her  tocall,  in  the  most  friendly  manner,  on 
the  poor  of  their  congregation,  and  they  all  received 
her  gladly.  She  began  at  once  to  speak  of  Jane  Ford. 
It  was  a  pity,  she  said,  that  she  would  leave  them, 
the?y  were^all  so  much  attached  to  her;  and,  if  she 
gained  less  wages  with  them,  might  she  not,  even  out 
of, that  liuie,  save  as  much  as  in  expensive  families, 
where  there  was  rivalry  in  dress  among  servants? 
Living  with  them,  she  said,  was  not  like  servitude:  it 
was  more  like  being  one  of  the  family.  Could  not 
Mrs.  Griffiths,  therefore,  give  Jane  a  little  good  advice  ? 
She  (Mrs.  Mainwaring)  knew  that  Mrs.  Griffiths  had 
influence  with  Jane,  and  she  hoped  she  would  use  it, 
both  for  Jane's  own  good,  and  to  oblige  the  preacher's 
whole  family. 

Mrs.  Griffiths  was  naturally  an  independent-minded 
woman,  and  she  replied,  that  nobody  had  a  higher 
respect  for  Mrs.  Mainwaring  and  her  family  than  she 
had;  but  she  must  make  free  to  say  that,  as  far  as 
money  went,  Jane  Ford  might  better  herself.  Jane 
was  very  comfortable,  and  always  spoke  in  the  highest 
terms  of  the  place;  and,  perhaps,  she  herself  was  a 
little  to  blame  about  Jane's  leaving — she  had  coun- 
selled her  to  do  so;  for  it  was  everybody's  duty  to  do 
the  best  for  themselves:  she  hoped  Mrs.  Mainwaring 
would  not  take  it  amiss,  but  she  had  advised  Jane  to 
leave.  It  did  not  always  follow,  she  went  on  to  say, 
that  because  servants  got  high  wages  they  must  be 
extravagant— look  at  Mrs.  Burder's  servants:  and  she 
herself  had  saved  a  deal  of  money  in  service,  and 
always  in  high  families. 

t 


60  THE  BEST   NOT  PERFECT. 

Mrs.  Mainwaring  was  displeased,  md  took  a  hast} 
leave;  trying, as  she  went  home,  to  prejudice  her  mind 
against  her  handmaiden,  who,  after  all,  had  told  a  false- 
hood, in  saying  Mrs.  Griffiths  had  no  hand  in  her 
leaving.  "  I  shall  get  another  as  good  as  she,"  said 
she  to  her  husband,  as  she  concluded  the  history  of 
this  domestic  affair  to  him;  "for  after  all,  you  see,  she 
is  not  to  be  believed,  nor  is  so  much  attached  to  us  as 
we  thought." 

"  What  did  father  mean  in  his  prayer  to-night?" 
asked  Samuel  of  Barbara,  who,  having-  sate  up  to 
supper,  were  bid  to  go  to  bed  without  the  attendance 
of  Jane;  "  he  spoke  of  some  one  who  had  stepped  from 
the  right  path,  and  over  whom  the  angels  in  heaven 
had  wept  —  who  does  he  mean?" 

•'  I  don't  think  he  meant  either  you  or  me,  Samuel," 
returned  his  sister;  "  I'm  sure  he  didn't  mean  mother, 
and  I  don't  think  it  can  be  Jane — I  wonder  who  it 
can  be!" 

Dear  children!  they  had  easy  consciences,  so  they 
laid  their  heads  down  on  their  pillows,  and  slept 
calmly.  Not  so  poor  Jane:  she  knew  the  words  in 
the  prayer  to  be  addressed  to  her.  She  believed  she 
had  done  right;  yet,  feeling  someway  as  if  she  had 
done  wrong,  and  troubled  by  the  cold  averted  looks  of 
her  mistress,  she  passed  many  sleepless  hours. 

Considering  the  very  indifferent  and  inexperienced 
servants  people  generally  get  for  5l.  a  year,  no  one 
need  be  surprised  at  Mrs.  Mainwaring's  vexation  and 
regret  to  part  with  Jane  Ford.  Why  she  was  after- 
wards so  angry  and  unreasonable  towards  her,  we  can 
only  explain  by  saying,  that  she,  good  woman  as  she 
was — and  she  really  was  an  excellent  woman — had  her 
weaknesses  like  everybody  else.  She  wished  it  would 
enter  into  Sister  Burder's  head— for  to  Sister  Burder 
ehe,  of  course,  had  told  all,  dwelling  no  little  upon  the 


THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT.  51 

low  wages  being  the  true  cause,  and  saying,  moreover, 
how  mortifying  it  was  to  those  in  narrow  circumstances 
to  be  ever  thus  ciYcurn vented  by  those  who  had  plenty 
We  1,  good  woman,  she  wished  all  this  would  put  it 
into  Sister  Burder's  mind  to  offer,  out  of  her  abun- 
dance, an  additional  two  or  three  pounds  to  Jane's 
wages:  she  had  volunteered,  one  day,  to  give  her  a 
new  gown.  But  no:  Sister  Burder  made  no  offer  of 
that  sort;  she  only  gave  the  advice,  that  as  Jane 
would  leave,  she  would  make  her,  if  she  was  her  ser- 
vant, d<>  a -good  deal  of  work  before  she  went;  and, 
as  the  Conference  was  now  coming  on,  and  the 
MathodTstlj  out  of  respect  to  their  preacher  and  his 
wife-,  would  repaper  and  repaint  their  house,  that  it 
should  he  all  done  while  Jane  stayed,  and  Mr.  Main- 
waring  was  from  home;  and  that,  during  this  season 
of  domestic  hustle,  she,  Sister  Burder,  would  take  the 
two  younger  children  to  her  own  house,  and  set  her 
own  maid,  Ann,  at  liberty  to  attend  to  them. 

Poor  Mrs.  Mainwaring  was  disappointed,  however, 
but  she  could  not  show  disappointment  to  the  wealthy 
sister;  so  she  indemnified  herself  by  treating  Jane  as 
an  offender,  with  coldness  and  severity. 

"  Mother  says,"  said  Barbara  one  day,  when  the 
mother  was  out,  "that  we  are  not  to  sit  with  you  in 
the  kitchen,  nor  talk  to  you,  as  we  used  to  do;  be- 
cause," added  she,  with  some  hesitation,  "you  don't 
speak  the  truth  always." 

"  OU  Jane,"  said  Samuel,  looking  up  from  his  copy- 
book, "  I  didn't  think  you  would  have  left  us!" 

"  You  know,  Jane,"  resumed  Barbara,  who  had 
something  of  her  mother's  disposition  in  her,  "  it  is  so 
wicked  to  tell  untruths;  and  you  said,  you  know,  that 
you  would  go  with  us.  You  know  you  said  so,  Jane, 
and  that  you  would  never  leave  us!" 

"  I  do  think,  if  you  loved  us  very  much,  you  would 


62  THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT. 

not  go,"  said  poor  Samuel,  brushing:  away  two  large 
tears  from  his  eyes,  that  they  might  not  blot  his  copy- 
book. 

"  Why,"  asked  Jane,  taking  refuge  in  the  unkind- 
ness  of  his  mother,  "  am  I  never  now  to  nurse  and 
play  with  the  little  ones  ?  Why  is  Mrs.  Burder's  maid 
to  take  care  of  them  now,  when  I'm  sure,  though  there 
is  so  much  to  do  in  the  house,  I'd  get  up  at  four  o'clock 
in  a  morning  to  work,  rather  than  never  to  see  them, 
in  this  way!  I'm  sure  I've  always  done  all  that  ever 
I  could  to  please  missis,  and  to  make  you  all  love  me," 
said  Jane;  "  and  I  do  love  you, children,  dearly,"  added 
she  the  next  moment,  as  she  saw  a  great  tear  fall  on 
Samuel's  copybook,  and  blot  the  fair  large-hand  copy 
he  was  still  writing;  "  and  my  heart  aches,"  continued 
she,  "to  kiss  poor  little  Joshua  and  the  baby;  and 
yesterday,  when  I  wanted  to  kiss  him,  your  mother 
snatched  him  away  just  as  if  I  had  been  poison!" 

"  Why  didn't  you  stay  with  us?"  asked  Barbara. 

"  I  wanted,"  replied  Jane,  "  to  get  more  money  than 
your  mother  can  afford  to  give;  I  have  poor  relations 
that  I  want  to  help.  Heaven  knows  that  it's  for  no 
bad  purpose  I  want  higher  wages!  But  I  shall  be 
heartily  glad  when  next  week  is  over,  and  I  am  out  of 
the  house;  for,  so  as  I  loved  you,  children,  I  never 
thought  to  have  been  so  unkindly  treated  by  any  of 
you:  and  then,  to  have  Joshua  snatched  away  from  me, 
and  so  as  he  cried  !  I  shall  be  glad  when  I'm  gone — 
and  so  as  I  used  to  think  it  would  break  my  heart  to 
leave  you,"  said  Jane. 

Samuel  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  never  heeding, 
poor  boy,  that  in  so  doing  he  turned  the  little  ink- 
bottle  over  his  copybook,  and  clasped  Jane  round  the 
neck,  sobbing  violently;  whilst  Barbara  even  laid  her 
head  on  the'table  at  which  she  was  sitting,  and  cried 
too. 


THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT.  53 

«*  Well,  I  suppose  this  is  all  very  wrong,"  at  length 
6aid  Jane,  who  had  sate  down  on  a  box  in  the  room,  and 
taken  Samuel,  though  he  was  nearly  ten  years  old,  on  her 
knee;  "  I've  no  right  to  be  here,  I  suppose,  talking  in 
this  way  to  you;  but,  however,  the  angels  in  heaven 
love  one  another;  Christ  told  his  disciples  to  love  one 
another,  and  what  have  we  done  more  than  that?  So 
I  trust  after  all  that  there  is  no  great  harm  done." 

The  time  of  Jane's  servitude  at  the  preacher's  now 
drew  to  an  end;  but  we  have  omitted  to  say,  that  Mrs. 
GriSkhs,  although  she  had  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
the-  p-reacher-and  his  wife,  by  her  interference,  had 
abated  no  whit  in  her  zeal  on  Jane's  account.  She  had 
obtained  for  her  a  place  at  a  manufacturer's,  wherp  she 
was  to  have  9/.  a  year  wages — a  golden  prospect  as  it 
seemed!  She  was  to  leave  Mr.  Mainwaring's  on  the 
Saturday  night,  and  go  to  her  new  place  on  the  Thurs- 
day, having  thus  an  interval  of  several  days  to  repair 
and  refit,  as  far  as  her  small  means  would  allow,  her 
scanty  wardrobe. 

All  now  was  neat  and  clean  at  the  preacher's;  new 
papered  walls,  new  painted  doors,  clean  hangings  and 
covers  to  all  the  beds.  The  very  atmosphere  of  the 
house  seemed  fresh;  and  Mrs.  Mainwating  thought 
with  pleasure  of  her  husband's  return  to  his  home,  of 
which  the  aspect  was  so  improved,  and  of  which  as  yet 
he  knew  nothing.  If  Jane  only  had  not  been  leaving, 
all  would  have  been  right,  so  Mrs.  Mainwaring  thought, 
but  she  took  care  not  to  show  this  sentiment  outwardly. 

Jane  was  up  in  her  own  garret  putting  her  things 
together  ready  for  her  departure,  and  wondering  with 
herself  who  she  must  get  to  fetch  her  boxes  away,  now 
Mark  was  gone,  when  Samuel  entered  her  room  on 
tiptoe.  lie  had  several  little  things  in  his  band,  made 
of  coloured  paper.  He  was  very  clever  in  folding  paper 
into  all  kinds  of  forms — cases  for  pens,  puzzles,  boxes, 

f2 


54  THE  BEST  NOT  PERFECT. 

purses,  boats,  and  such  things ;   he  would  amuse  his 
brothers  and  sisters  for  hours  in  this  way;  and  now  he 
came  in  on  tiptoe,  as  if  he  was  afraid  of  being  heard. 
His  face  and  eyes  were  very  red,  as  if  he  had  been  cry- 
ing, and  his  lips  quivered  as  he  looked  at  Jane.   With- 
out saying  a  word,  he  put  the  little  keepsakes  he  had 
brought  into  her  hand,  and  then  a  little  purse  of  white 
paper,  bordered  with  blue;  Jane  had  never  seen  any- 
thing of  his  making  so  pretty  before;  there  was  some- 
thing within  it;  she  opened  it:  it  was  a  shilling.    Poor 
dear  Samuel!  she  would  have  clasped  him  to  her  heart 
and  kissed  him,  and  blessed  him  again  and  again,  but 
the  poor  lad  was  stealing  softly  down  the  garret  stairs, 
and,  as  she  heard  his  mother's  voice  below,  she  did  not 
call  him  back.     She  loosened  the  cords  of  her  box  and 
put  in  his  little  gifts,  while  the  tears  streamed  from  her 
eyes;  and  she  felt  now.as  she  always  thought  she  should 
feel  at  parting,  as  if  her  very  heart  would  break.    Some 
way,  however,  thought  she,  as  she  came  down  the  garret 
stairs,  and  passed  the  door  of  the  children's  room,  1 
cannot  help  loving  Samuel  better  than  Barbara.     That 
same  moment  the  room  door  was  softly  opened,  and 
Barbara,  her  face  quite  red  with  weeping,  likewise  thrust 
hastily  a  little  paper  parcel  into  her  hand,  with  an  air  of 
mystery  equal  to  her  brother's,  and  then  giving  her  a 
kiss,  was  hastily  retreating  into  the  nursery  again,  when 
Samuel  rushed  out,  and  in  a  voice  unusually  strong  and 
loud  for  him,  "  Good  bye,  dear  Jane,  if  you  really  are 
going!"     "Good  bye,  Jane!"  said  Barbara,  following 
him  out.     Jane  set  down  her  bonnet-box,  and  kissed 
them,  and  bade  them  farewell  most  affectionately,  tell- 
in?  them  she  was  quite  sure  and  certain  the  new  servant 
would  love  them  as  dearly  as  she  did,  and  be  good  to 
them  also. 

No  sooner  had  she  got  into  the  little  passage  below 
stairs  than  Mrs.  Burder's  Ann  came  out  of  the  parlour 


THE  BEST  NOT  PERIECT.  55 

with  the  two  younger  children.  Joshua  screamed  for 
joy  to  see  her,  and  so  did  little  Annie.  Jane  snatched 
up  the  fat  little  fellow,  and  kissed  him,  while  he  clasped 
her  tight  round  the  neck,  and  declared  he  never  would 
leave  her.  Why  did  Mrs.  Mainwaring.  who  came  to 
the  parlour  door  at  that  moment.looksocold  and  severe, 
and  tell  Mrs.  Burder's  Ann  to  take  the  two  little  ones 
into  the  children's  room?  We  will  not  inquire  too 
narrowly  into  her  motives,  for  she  was  then  angry,  and 
people,  when  they  are  angry,  so  often  act  unkindly. 

Jancsaiti  she  would  carry  up  Joshua;  Mrs.  Main- 
waring  jsaid. no,  Joshua  was  to  go  up  stairs  wit.i  Ann. 
TV  little  fellow  was  the  most  wilful  of  all  the  young 
Malnwarimrs;  he  had  not  seen  Jane  for  more  than  a 
week,  and  he  would  not  leave  her  arms.  The  mother 
insisted;  the  child  refused  to  obey;  it  was  then  a  ques- 
tion of  obedience  or  disobedience,  and  Mrs.  Mainwar- 
ing, who  enforced  obedience  by  the  bitter  administra- 
tion of  the  rod,  compelled  him  to  leave  Jane,  and  then 
whipped  him  severely,  the  poor  child  screaming  most 
violently  all  the  time,  because  he  knew  not  why  he  was 
punished,  his  small  experience  havinar  ever  taught  him 
that  Jane  was  a  person  to  cling  to  and  to  love^ 

The  child  was  whipped  and  made  submissive  by 
Buffering,  and  was  then  taken  up  stairs  bv  his  mother. 
Jane,  who  never  in  her  life  before  had  sympathized  so 
deeply  with  the  sufferings  of  a  child,  felt' almost  to  dis- 
like her  late  mistress,  and,  wiping  away  her  tears  with 
the  corner  of  her  shawl,  stood  at  the  window  with  her 
back  towards  her,  and  her  bonnet-box  on  the  floor,  when 
Mrs.  Mainwaring  re-entered.  Poor  Mrs.  Mainwar- 
ing! she  knew  she  had  acted  thus  from  passion,  and  she 
was  not  at  peace  with  herself.  She  erave,  however, 
good  advice  to  Jane;  but  that  good  advice  had  lost  its 
unction.  Jane  thanked  her  "for  many  favours;"  but 
said  she  should  never  forgive  herself  for  having  so 
innocently  caused  little  Joshua  to  be  whipped  just  at 


56  CHANGE  FOR  THE   WORSE. 

the  last  minute;  and  she  was  sure  Mrs.  Mainwaring 
herself  would  be  sorry  for  it;  and  then,  taking  up  her 
bonnet-box  and  wiping  her  eyes  again  with  her  shawl, 
she  said,  "  Good  bye,"  almost  inaudibly. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CHANGE  FOR  THE  WORSE. 

Mrs.  Griffiths  welcomed  Jane  with  bad  news.  The 
manufacturer  to  whose  family  she  was  engaged  had 
become  bankrupt;  the  lady  was  ill  in  bed,  and  she 
wished  now  to  be  released  from  the  engagement  to 
Jane.  Jane  of  course  could  demand  a  month's  wages; 
but  would  she  do  so?  Jane  said,  if  she  could  get  ano- 
ther service  directly  she  would  not,  considering  the 
unhappy  circumstances  of  the  family. 

Poor  Jane  was  sadly  out  of  spirits — parting  with  the 
little  Mainwarings  had  quite  overset  her.  She  opened 
Barbara's  little  packet,  and  found  in  it  a  new  house- 
wife, upon  the  making1  of  which  Jane  knew  she  had 
prided  herself  so  much,  and  which  was  intended  as  a 
present  for  Mrs.  Burder.  How  would  the  child  excuse 
to  her  mother  the  havin?  given  it  away  to  her?  She 
could  not  help  blaming  herself  for  loving  Barbara  less 
than  Samuel;  she  then  turned  to  the  little  paper  purse 
and  the  shilling.  "  I  won't  part  with  this  shilling," said 
she,  "  unless  to  save  my  own  life;"  and  then  she  busied 
herself  for  a  whole  hour  in  scratching-  upon  it,  with  her 
sharp-pointed  scissors,  the  letters  S.M.  to  J.F.  When 
this  was  done,  she  put  the  purse  and  the  shilling  into  a 
painted  cotton-box,  with  a  sliding  lid,  in  which  she  kept 
her  few  valuables — her  mother's  silver  thimble,  Mark 
Griffiths's  grandmother's  ring,  and  two  or  three  little 
things  that  had  been  given  her  for  fairings. 

It  is  not,  we  can  assure  our  readers,  at  all  a  pleasant 
thing  to  be  out  of  service  more  than  a  week  or  two  at 


CHANGE  FOR  THE  WORSE.  57 

t  time.  To  say  nothing-  of  the  fear  your  friends  should 
think  you  a  burden  to  them,  there  is  a  consciousness  that 
you  are  not  adding  anything  to  your  little  savings,  if 
you  have  any,  or  getting  any  money,  if  you  happen  to 
have  none.  You  are  sure  also  that  plenty  of  people 
want  servants,  if  you  could  only  find  them  out.  Are 
you,  however,  a  housemaid  ?  at  that  very  moment  nobody 
seems  to  want  anything  but  cooks  and  nursemaids;  or 
if  you  chance  to  be  a  nursemaid,  as  far  as  you  are 
concerned,  there  might  be  no  children  in  all  the  world; 
but'wben,  a*1d  to  this,  you  have  a  father,  or  brother,  or 
sister,  whom  vou  are  most  anxious  to  oblijre,  who  want 
to  borrow  a  part  of  your  prospective  wages,  then  you 
may  have  a  little  idea  of  Jane's  state  of  mind  at  the 
commencement  of  the  third  week  of  her  being  out  of 
place,  a  boarder  and  lodger,  without  means  of  payment, 
with  the  person  with  whom,  of  all  others  in  the  world, 
she  wished  to  stand  well  on  the  score  of  independence. 

"  Never  trouble  yourself,  Jane,  lass/'  said  good  Mrs. 
Griffiths,  nevertheless;  "  I  am  not  within  a  mouthful  of 
victuals  to  you  any  day!  Your  father  and  mother  be- 
friended me  and  mine  when  we  were  in  bitter  need; 
and,  besides  all  this,  vour  work  is  worth  vour  meat  any 
day!" 

Jane  tried  to  cheer  up,  and  was  more  assiduous  than 
ever  in  darning  stockings  with  Mrs.  Griffiths. 

Next  door  lived  a  char- woman,  who  was  employed 
most  of  her  time  at  the  White  Lion  Hotel:  she  was  a 
very  neighbourly  sort  of  woman,  and  promised  Jane  to 
help  her  to  a  place  if  she  could.  She  came  in  one 
evening,  and  without  any  preamble  began,  "  Now's 
your  time,  Jane  Ford,  if  you  want  a  capital  service!" 
anil  then  she  went  on  to  tell  how  a  Captain  Somebody 
ami  his  lady,  who  were  travelling  with  two  servants, 
had  stopped  a  day  at  the  White  Lion,  in  consequence 
of  the  sudden  illness  of  the  lady's  maid;  that  the  doctor 
had  advised  her  returning  to  London,  which  w  as  her 


58  CHANGE  FOR  THE   WOhSE. 

home,  and  she  was  joins'  with  the  coach  that  night; 
that  the  lady  would  engage  another  immediately,  and 
that,  the  day  after  the  following,  they  would  proceed 
on  their  journey.  She  told  how  she  had  spoken  a  good 
word  for  Jane;  that  the  wages  were  ten  guineas;  and 
that  there  was  a  smart  young  fellow  of  a  valet  who  sate 
in  the  dicky  with  her  in  travelling;  that  they  were 
going  to  travel  about  for  some  time,  and  then,  before 
winter,  return  to  London,  which  was  their  home.  Jane, 
she  said,  she  had  promised,  should  go  at  ten  o'clock  to 
talk  with  the  lady;  and,  in  conclusion,  she  warmly  coun- 
selled her  to  take  the  place,  for  they  were  rich  folks, 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  and  there  was  nothing  like 
seeing  a  little  of  the  world  when  one  was  young. 

Jane  was  captivated  at  once  by  the  prospect:  it  would 
be  a  comfort,  she  thought,  to  be  out  of  Nottingham, 
having  parted  in  this  way  with  the  Mainwarings,  for 
now  she  could  not  bear  the  thoughts  of  going  to  chapel; 
and  was  not  Mark  gone  too?  The  good  char-woman 
was  right;  it  would  do  her  good  to  see  a  little  of  the 
world.  Mrs.  Griffiths,  on  the  other  hand,  demurred. 
Suppose  Jane  should  be  unhappy,  or  ill.  such  a  long  way 
from  home  as  she  would  get;  and,  as  to  that  fine  valet, 
who  was  to  go  travelling  about  at  her  side,  she  did  not 
like  that  at  all;  fine  gentlemen  servants,  she  said,  were 
her  horror.  Rachel  came  in  at  that  moment,  and,  hear- 
in?  the  proposal,  declared  that  she  herself  would  take 
it,  if  Jane  did  not;  she  would  like  it  better  than  dress- 
making-. Rachel  was  in  serious  earnest;  she  was  a 
handsome  girl,  and  would  make  a  clever  lady's-maid; 
but  it  never  would  do  for  her  to  go  travelling  about 
with  a  fine  valet;  and  who  wotdd  trust  poor  Rachel  in 
London?  This  determined  Jane  at  once;  she  promised 
her  sister  the  whole  half  of  her  wages,  and  began, 
though  not  yet  engaged,  to  make  preparations  for  her 
new  destination. 

Jane  was  engaged  before   half-past   ten  the  next 


CHANGE  FOR  THE  WORSE.  59 

morning:.  Her  new  mistress  was  a  certain  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine,  the  lady  of  a  Captain  Tremaine.  Jane  had 
fancied  her  a  stout  old  lady,  quiet  and  dignified:  how 
great  was  her  surprise,  therefore,  to  find  her  small  and 
thin,  with  a  sharp,  somewhat  jaded  expression  of  coun- 
tenance, and  an  almost  restlessness  of  manner.  She 
might  be  thirty,  by  appearance,  or  she  might  be  forty; 
for  her  complexion  was  faded,  and  her  hair,  though  of 
a  beautiful  dark  brown,  was  the  thinnest  Jane  had 
ever  seen  uncovered  by  a  cap.  It  might  be  the  natu- 
ral Course  of  time,  or  it  might  be  sore  sickness,  which 
hac)  a<re<t  ttYe'iady.  A  keener  observer,  however,  than 
Jane's  experience  at  that  time  allowed  her  to  be, 
would  have  suggested  rather,  that  it  was  an  unhappy 
life,  trouble  and  anxiety  of  one  kind  or  other,  which 
had  dealt  with  her  even  more  severely  than  time. 

Mrs.  Tremaine  was  a  more  experienced  reader  of 
countenances  than  Jane:  she  determined,  the  first 
moment  she  saw  her,  to  engage  her;  she  was  sure  she 
was  honest,  clever,  cleanly,  and  steady;  she  was,  in 
short,  prepossessed  wonderfully  in  her  favour.  She 
put  a  few  hasty  questions  as  to  Jane's  qualifications, 
which  seemed  all  answered  to  her  satisfaction.  "  I 
suffer  much,"  said  the  lady,  "  from  shattered  nerves; 
my  health  is  not  good.  We  travel  about  a  great  deal 
— sometimes  we  are  in  Bath,  sometimes  in  Chelten- 
ham. Captain  Tremaine  lives  in  society — it  is  the 
breath  of  his  life;  for  myself,  I  want  rest;  you  will  not 
have  a  hard  place  with  me.  The  next  winter  we 
shall  spend  in  London." 

It  was  all  settled,  therefore.  At  eight  o'clock  that 
night  Jane  was  to  go  with  her  boxes,  and  enter  upon 
her  new  service;  and  the  next  morning  they  all  went 
forward  towards  York. 

It  was  a  very  busy  day — so  much  to  get  ready,  all 
n  a  hurry,  and  so  much  leave-taking  besides.     There 


60  CHANGE  FOK   1HE  WORSE. 

was  her  father,  poor  man,  who,  drunken  as  he  had  be- 
come, and  out  of  the  elbows  as  he  always  was,  loved 
his  daughter  Jane,  and  was  proud  of  her;  there  was 
the  stepmother  to  take  leave  of,  who  now,  at  parting, 
was  singularly  gracious;  and  there  was  Rachel  and 
Letty,  and  poor  little  Sally  too;  and  with  all  of  these 
she  had  to  cry  a  good  deal,  and  to  promise  never  to 
forget  them,  and  to  write  to  them  sometimes.  She 
went  also  to  visit  once  more  her  mother's  and  little 
Stephen's  grave  ;  and  there,  upon  the  resting-place  of 
those  she  had  loved  best  in  this  world,  she  put  up  a 
prayer  that  the  Almighty  would  bless  and  preserve 
her  in  the  new  mode  of  life  that  was  just  opening 
before  her.  Jane  wondered  how  it  was  that  she  left 
the  churchyard  so  low-spirited;  not  so  much  comforted 
as  doubtful  of  the  future.  From  the  churchyard  she 
went  to  drink  her  last  cup  of  tea  with  good  Mrs. 
Griffiths,  whom,  unfortunately,  she  found  as  low-spirited 
as  herself;  and  then,  in  the  evening,  accompanied  by 
her  and  her  two  sisters  as  far  ;is  the  door  of  the  hotel, 
and  followed  by  her  bundle,  two  papered  trunks,  and 
bonnet-box,  entered  upon  her  new  service. 

In  the  annals  of  society  it  never  yet  was  known, 
perhaps,  that  a  maid-servant  went  to  her  place  at  any 
other  time  of  day  than  evening.  There  are  many  rea- 
sons why  it  should  be  so.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  then 
no  important  meal  to  prepare,  no  mopping  and  slopping 
about  in  the  new  house  at  that  time  of  day;  no  chil- 
dren to  undress  and  put  to  bed — for  they  always  take 
care  that  it  shall  be  after  the  children's  bed-time. 
Again,  by  going  in  the  evening,  they  can  drink  a  com- 
fortable "cup  of  tea  with  parents,  or  married  sisters, 
old  grandmothers,  or  kind  motherly  friends,  like  good 
Mrs.  Griffiths.  In  the  dusky  hour,  too,  all  their  little 
possessions  do  not  get  so  curiously  scanned  and  com- 
mented upon— that  is,  if  their  possessions  be  few;  for, 


CHANGE  FOR  THE  MORSE.  61 

if  they  be  many,  the  big  boxes  come  next  day,  or  the 
day  after,  brought  in  the  open  daylight.  If  few,  on 
the  contrary,  and  so  small  as  to  be  conveyed  in  one 
little  trunk  or  bandbox,  it  only  looks  quite  natural  — 
they  have  only  brought  with  them  just  two  or  three 
things  that  they  wanted:  their  other  luggage  comes 
afterwards. 

Jane,  who  had  hitherto  flattered  herself  that  her  two 
papered  trunks  and  paper  bandbox  were  so  respect- 
able^found,  to  her  surprise,  that  in  this  her  grand  new 
service  "they  were  quite  inadmissible.  A  black  port- 
manteau.-beUirgingtothe  carriage,  was  handed  to  her, 
and^nuo  this  she  was  required  to  stow  all  her  pos- 
sessions. Fortunately,  Mrs.  Griffiths  had  gone  with 
her  into  the  house,  and  was  willing  to  help  in  this 
unlooked-for  dilemma.  Anybody  may  conceive  her 
consternation  when  they  think  of  the  contents  of  two 
good-sized  trunks,  and  of  a  bandbox,  containing  the 
Sunday-bonnet  and  the  made-up  caps,  being  all  thrust 
into  one  portmanteau  !  Jane  went  to  make  her  essay 
as  lady's-maid,  leaving  Mrs.  Griffiths  to  arrange  all 
this  with  the  valet.  After  an  hour's  absence,  in  which 
she  had  given  satisfaction  to  her  new  mistress,  she 
returned  to  her  friend,  and  had  the  satisfaction  also  to 
find  that  the  contents  of  the  trunks  had  really  gone  com- 
fortably into  the  portmanteau;  and  that,  furthermore, 
a  small  travelling-case,  containing  at  present  only 
straps,  a  half-empty  ci<rar-box,  and  one  or  two  other 
trifles,  was  condescendingly  permitted  by  the  valet  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  Sunday-bonnet  and  the 
made-up  caps.  Mrs.  Griffiths  thought  the  arrange- 
ment much  better;  for  the  bandbox/she  said,  was  not 
strong,  nor  fit  for  long  travel;  there  was  a  lock  and 
key  to  this,  and  it  was  all  sound  and  good  as  an  iron 
chest.  Jane  therefore  said,  she  would  lend  Rachel 
and  Letty,  each  one  of  her  papered  trunks,  and  give 

a 


62  CHANGE   FOR  THE  WORSE. 

the  bandbox  to  Mrs.  Griffiths.  Mrs.  Griffiths  declared 
it  was  the  most  useful  present  she  could  have  made 
her.  And  so,  shedding  tears  on  both  sides,  and  part- 
ing as  affectionately  as  mother  and  daughter,  Jane  saw 
her  kind  friend  depart,  and  hastened  to  her  own  room, 
to  get,  if  possible,  a  few  hours'  sleep,  after  a  day  of  so 
much  hurry  and  trouble. 

The  travelling-carriage,  with  its  four  horses  and  vast 
quantity  of  luggage,  stood  at  the  door  of  the  White 
Lion  Hotel,  at  half-past  seven  the  next  morning;  and 
poor  Ford,  with  his  hands  folded  and  his  hat  slouched 
over  his  eyes,  stood  leaning  against  the  corner  of  the 
coach-office,  among  a  crowd  of  idle  people,  who  had 
stopped  on  their  way, or  been  drawn  together,  in  the  first 
place,  to  see  twocoaches,  and  then  this  travelling-carriage, 
drive  off.  Ford  thought  nothing  either  of  the  people, 
nor  about  his  shabby  appearance:  he  wanted  only  to 
see  his  daughter  once  more,  though  he  did  not  care  to 
be  seen  bv  her.  Poor  man !  he  had  thought  more  of 
his  first  wife  within  the  few  hours  which  had  passed 
since  he  parted  with  Jane,  than  he  had  done  for  months 
before.  Ford  was  by  no  means  a  bad  man;  he  was 
only  weak,  and  miserably  unfortunate. 

The  tall,  haughty,  and  mustachoed  Captain  Tre- 
maine  came  out  of  the  inn,  looked  carelessly  at  the 
carriage,  said  a  few  words  to  the  valet,  and  then  got  in, 
leaving  his  lady,  who  followed,  to  be  cared  for  by 
the  servants  and  the  landlord.  Ford  scrutinized  atten- 
tively both  the  master  and  the  valet.  Of  late  years 
he  had  drunk  too  much  to  have  left  his  judgment  very 
clear;  but  he  disliked  the  appearance  of  both.  He 
wished  it  were  in  his  power  to  prevent  his  daughter 
going  into  this  new  service.  And  now  she  too  came 
to  the  carriage-side  in  her  dark  gown,  plaid  shawl,  and 
neat  straw-bonnet.  Oh,  how  like  his  first  dear  wife 
she  looked— just  as  she  was  in  the  happy  days  of  their 


CHANGE  FOR  THE  WORSE.  63 

courtship!  It  was  a  time  he  had  almost  forgotten; 
and,  for  a  few  seconds,  he  was  lost  in  a  far-off  day- 
dream. But  now  Jane  was  on  the  box,  and  the  con- 
temptuous-looking valet  had  taken  his  seat  heside  her. 
They  drove  off;  she  had  not  seen  him — perhaps  in 
this  world  they  should  never  see  one  another  again  ! 
The  people  moved  away  from  the  inn-door;  and  poor 
Ford  went  sauntering  down  the  market-place,  with 
heavy  steps,  but  with  a  heart  a  hundred  times  heavier. 

Jane,  when  she  set  off,  was  quite  as  much  out  of 
spirits— as  her  fattier,  and  she  dreaded  having  to  talk 
to  her-eojnpynion.  She  mijjht,  however,  have  spared 
all  anxieties  on  that  head;  for,  pretty  as  she  was,  he 
seemed  disposed  to  have  no  intercourse  with  her.  She 
thought  perhaps  he  was  proud,  perhaps  he  was  sulky; 
perhaps  he  was  one  of  those  people  who  sulk  for  days. 
She  would  have  thought,  perhaps,  he  belonged  to  some 
order  of  La  Trappe,  if  she  had  ever  heard  of  such  an 
order:  as  it  was,  she  only  thought  he  was  the  most 
disagreeable  man  she  ever  saw,  and  took  a  gieat  dis- 
like to  him. 

From  York  they  travelled  to  the  lakes  of  Westmore- 
land and  Cumberland,  on  to  Liverpool  and  Manchester, 
and  then,  by  way  of  Sheffield  and  Birmingham,  Chel- 
tenham and  Lemington,  to  London.  All  this  journey 
occupied  many  weeks.  In  mere  towns  of  trade  they 
only  stayed  a  day  or  two;  in  those  of  pleasure  and 
great  resort,  they  remained  longer;  but,  as  regards  the 
journey  ami  the  Tremaines  themselves,  we  will  give 
extracts  from  a  letter  of  Jane's,  written  in  Cheltenham, 
to  her  brother  John,  in  Bristol,  where,  unfortunately,  it 
never  was  received,  being  sent  to  the  dead-letter  office 
in  London,  some  months  afterwards,  with  the  words 
"  Not  to  be  found,"  inscribed  upon  it. 

"  Who,  or  exactly  what  are  the  family  I  am  now  living  with,"  said 
Jane's  letter,  "  1  do  not  know.     They  seem,  however,  to  have  plenty  ot 


64  CHANGE   FOR  THE  WORSE. 

money,  and  that  is  something;  and,  as  I  cannot  say  but  I  am  confort- 
able  enough,  there  is  no  need  to  be  uneasy.  We  travel  about  from  place 
to  place,  and  live,  when  we  stop  in  a  town,  in  the  best  of  hotels. 
Wherever  there  are  races  or  musical  festivals  we  go:  my  lady  is  fond 
of  music,  and  Captain  Tremaine  of  races.  Some  people  say  Captain 
Tremaine  is  a  gambler,  but  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Mr.  Norris,  the 
valet,  is  out  of  livery,  and  looks  very  much  like  a  gentleman,  only  I 
often  think  he  does  not  behave  like  one:  I  should  not  dislike  my  place 
at  all  if  it  were  not  for  him.  At  first  he  behaved  very  distant  to  me, 
and  then  he  got  very  civil,  and  then  more  than  civil ;  and  upon  that  we 
quarrelled,  for  I  am  sure  he  is  not  such  a  one  as  has  respect  for  women 
because  they  are  virtuous.  I  am  very  glad  poor  Kachel  did  nut  get 
into  this  place.  I  don't  find  it  difficult  at  all  to  give  Mrs.  Tremaine 
satisfaction.  I  am  sorry  for  her:  she  seems  to  be  very  unhappy: 
Captain  Tremaine  and  she  do  not  live  pleasantly  together.  He  often 
is  angry  that  she  goes  to  public  places.  1  wonder  why  she  does,  because 
she  always  says  she  wants  rest;  and  yet.  when  she  stops  at  home  a 
day  or  two,  her  spirits  get  so  bad,  and  she  sits  and  cries  for  hours  and 
hours,  till  her  eyes  are  almost  blind;  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  she  will 
be  dressed  and  go  to  a  party,  and  looks  so  gay,  that  one  could  not 
think  her  the  same  person.  She  and  her  husband  never  come  home 
together,  and  seldom  go  to  the  same  places  of  amusement.  When  I 
came  first,  I  thought  she  was  five-and-thirty,  at  least — her  hair  so  thin, 
and  her  lace  so  haggard;  but  she  is  only  seven-and-twenty  1  Oh, 
John,  is  it  not  shocking  to  think  of  trouble  making  people  so  old- 
looking  '" 

"  Sheffield. — Only  think,  John,  of  our  now  being  in  Sheffield.  I  was 
so  taken  by  surprise,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do,  when  Mr.  Norris  said 
the  great  black  smoky  town,  which  lay  before  us,  was  Sheffield!  I  saw 
hundreds  of  artisans  going  along  the  streets  as  we  drove  in  ;  but  1  did 
not  see  Mark  Griffiths  among  them:  I  wonder  what  I  should  have 
said  if  I  had !  I  have  asked  the  waiter  at  the  inn.  and  the  chamber- 
maid, if  they  know  such  a  young- man  ;  but  they  don't.  I  would  give 
anything  to  see  him,  for  I  haven't  heard  a  word  from  Nottingham  since 
I  left ;  and  now  it  seems  so  strange  to  be  in  the  same  town  with  Mark, 
and  yet  not  be  able  to  see  him.  I  have  asked  leave  to  walk  out  a 
little  this  evening,  and  perhaps  I  may  meet  him:  I  am  just  going  now, 
and  will  tell  you  if  I  do. 

"  Well,  I  have  been  out,  but  I  met  no  Mark  Griffiths;  but  I  am  so 
angry  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  met  Mr.  Norris  in  the  street,  and 
he  insisted  on  going  with  me:  he  said  it  was  not  proper  for  a  pretty 
young  woman  like  me — he  is  always  a  flattering  one  in  this  way — to 
be  wandering  about  the  streets  of  a  large  town  at  night  by  myself, 
and  that  he  would  go  and  take  care  of  me  '  Mind  your  own  business, 
Mr.  Norris,'  said  I,  'and  I'll  mind  mine!'  and  I  walked  away  from 
him;  but  he  would  go  with  me,  and  wanted  me  to  walk  arm  inarm 
with  him,  which  I  would  not,  because,  if  I  had  met  Mark,  I  thought 
it  would  look  so.  After  we  had  walked  about  for  above  an  hour, 
Mr.  Norris  said  we  would  go  and  eat  a  patty,  and  have  a  glass  of  wine. 
It  was  no  manner  of  use  of  my  refusing;  so  I  went  with  him  to  what 
icemed  a  confectioner's  shop,  or  more  like  a  sort  of  coffeehouse,  where 


CHANGE  FOR  THE  WORSE.  65 

fclks  can  sit  all  by  themselves,  and  have  what  they  like  and  nobody 
lee  them;  and  he  called  for  coffee,  and  patties,  and  liquors,  and 
poured  me  out  some;  and  was  so  civil,  nothing  could  equal  it;  and 
began  all  his  long  palavering  about  love  and  nonsense;  and  kept  drink- 
ing wine  till  1  was  quite  frightened,  and  wanted  me  to  drink  too. 
'It's  no  manner  of  use,  Mr.  Norns,'  says  I,  -your  talking  to  me  of 
love;  I've  no  love  to  throw  away  Upon  you;  and  1  don't  thank  you 
for  bringing  me  here  ;  and  if  you  don't  choose  to  behave  like  a  gentle- 
man, and  come  awav  at  once  while  you've  a  bit  of  sense  left,  why, 
I'll  go  away  by  myself,  that  1  will !'  1  was  so  frightened  I  can't  tell 
you,  for  an  old  woman  waited  on  us,  that  looked  like  a  hag;  and  she 
and  Mr.  Norris  kept  winking  at  one  another,  as  if  they  knew  what 
one  another  meant.  I  got  up  and  wanted  to  go,  but  the  old  woman 
took  hold  ef  rift,  and  said  it  was  too  early  yet;  that  the  gentleman 
was  Bet ready.  This  frightened  me  more  than  anything  else,  and  1  felt 
as  if  I  -nnyrt  e*espe  then  or  never;  so  1  jumped  up.  spite  of  the  old 
woitvan,  and  run  out,  right  through  the  house  and  shop  into  the  street, 
and  was  walking  away  as  fast  as  ever  I  could,  when  Mr.  N  orris  came  up. 
He  looked  all  in  a  flurry  like,  and  angry,  but  he  was  very  civil,  and  said 
he  meant  nothing  but  good  tome;  that  lie  was  sorry  if  1  was  frightened; 
but  that  his  love  for  me  was  so  great,  he  did  not  know  what  he  did.  I 
never  spoke  one  word  to  him  all  the  .vay  hack  to  our  hotel;  but  I 
determined  to  tell  missis  when  1  got  there.  1  never  met  Mark,  as 
you  may  believe;  perhaps,  after  all,  he  is  not  here;  I  should  hate 
Sheffield  if  I  thought  so.  alter  the  way  this  bad  man  has  behaved ;  and, 
some  way  or  other,  1  felt  quite  out  of  spirits. 

"  When  1  got  to  the  hotel  I  found  Mrs.  Tremaine  crying  violently. 
She  and  the  Captain  had  had  a  terrible  quarrel — what  about  1  don't 
know.  I  put  her  to  bed  ;  and,  as  she  seenn  d  more  comfortable  in  her 
mind,  I  told  her  how  Mr.  Norris  had  behaved,  and  said  I  would  tell 
Captain  Tremaine,  for  that  1  could  not  bear  it.  '  It's  no  use  saying 
a  word  about  it  to  Captain  Tremaine,'  said  missis;  '  he  and  Norris  are 
hand  and  glove;  he'd  never  believe  a  word  you  say:  and,  let  me  warn 
you  not  to  make  an  enemy  of  Norris,  or  you  may  repent  it:  and 
another  thing — 1  have  troubles  enough  of  my  own  to  bear,  without 
having  yours  also.  I  can  do  nothing  for  you;  so  let  me  hear  no  com- 
plaints.' 1  am  very  much  vexed  and  hurt  at  this;  for,  to  whom  can 
a  poor  servant  speak,  among  strangers,  as  1  am,  if  not  to  her  missis? 
So  I  have  given  warning  to  leave,  let  me  be  where  I  may,  when 
the  month  is  up.  Missis  upon  this  went  into  hysterics,  and  it  was 
long  past  midnight  before  she  was  well  enough  to  be  left.  1  am  now 
writing  to  you  instead  of  going  to  bed  ;  fur  it'»  no  manner  of  use  trying 
to  sleep,  especially  as  we  set  off  again  early  in  the  morning.  1  have 
no  chance  now  of  seeing  Mark  Griffiths;  and  yet,  perhaps  be  is  living 
in  this  same  street — perhaps  at  the  very  next  house.  Good  bye, 
John;  the  Boots  has  knocked  at  my  door;  in  two  hours  we  shall  be 
off.  I  shall  add  more  to  my  letter  in  Cheltenham,  where  we  stop 
some  time." 

"  Cheltenham. — Here  we  have  now  been  six  weeks,  and  I  have  not 
added  a  word  to  my  letter.    1  gave  warning,  as  1  told  you,  in  Sheffield; 

»2 


66  CHANGE  FOR  THE  WORSE. 

and,  according  to  that  warning,  1  ought  not  to  have  been  still  whixe  I 
am.  Missis,  however,  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  said  I  must  think  better 
of  what  I  had  done.  She  said  she  could  not  part  with  me;  she  was 
very  kind,  and  cried,  and  said  she  had  many  causes  of  unhappiness : 
that,  though  she  was  married,  she  had  no  friend  in  her  husband;  that 
I  was  kinder  to  her  than  anybody  else;  and,  if  I  would  only  stop,  she 
would  raise  my  wages  to  twelve  pounds.  I  have  lived  with  them  now 
a  quarter  of  a  year;  and  she  gave  me  a  pound  towards  my  quarter's 
wages,  which  I  was  greatly  in  want  of.  She  gave  me  also  a  hand- 
some shawl,  and  two  dresses,  which,  though  lean  never  wear  myself, 
because  they  are  evening  dresses,  and  a  deal  too  little  for  me,  I 
can  sell,  she  says,  either  here  or  when  we  get  to  London.  She  must 
have  spoken  to  Mr.  Morris  also  about  his  behaviour  to  me;  for  he 
lias  ever  since  been  as  distant  and  haughty  as  can  be:  which,  though 
not  pleasant  in  a  fellow-servant,  I  like  a  deal  better  than  all  his 
civility.  This  is  a  very  gay  place,  although  the  season  is  nearly  over. 
We  have  had  a  footman  since  we  lived  here:  he  is  a  very  nice  young 
man,  by  name  James  Kemp  ;  he  once  lived  in  Bristol,  with  a  gentle- 
man named  Dixon  ;  and  it's  quite  a  pleasure  to  me  to  talk  to  him 
about   the  town  in  which  you,   my  dear  John,  are  living.     I  have 

learnt  from  him  all  about  the  churches,  and  where  the  office  is: 

I  almost  fancy  J  have  been  in  Bristol:  I  only  wish  I  knew  in  which 
street  you  live,  that  he  might  tell  all  about  it. 

"  I  have  very  little  to  do  with  Mr.  Norris  now:  he  gambles,  that's 
certain,  let  Captain  Tremaine  do  what  he  will.  Mrs.  Tremaine  lives 
very  gaily  here,  and  has  had  a  many  new  and  expensive  dresses:  she 
and  the  Captain  seem  much  happier  now.  The  weather  is  fine,  the 
town  and  neighbourhood  very  charming,  the  people  all  gay;  and,  if  I 
could  only  know  something  about  those  who  are  dear  to  me,  I  should 
be  very  happy." 

"  Two  weeks  later. — Something  very  dreadful  has  happened  since  I 
wrote  the  above.  Captain  Tremaine  and  a  Colonel  Broadwood,  a 
well-known  gambler,  have  fought  a  duel.  Captain  Tremaine  is 
slightly  wounded;  but.  what  is  worse,  hand-bills  have  been  posted 
about,  charging  him  with  something  very  bad — something  dishonour- 
able about  their  gambling.  The  hand-bills  were  posted  up  in  the 
night;  and,  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  it,  Captain  Tremaine  had  them 
torn  down.  James  says,  if  be  were  to  go  out  he  would  get  horse- 
whipped, for  that  he  is  covered  with  disgrace.  I  don't  understand 
what  it  is — I  only  know  what  James  says;  and  this  is  certain,  that  it 
has  made  a  great  commotion  in  the  house.  James  leaves  to-morrow; 
Mrs.  Tremaine  is  suddenly  taken  ill  with  a  nervous  attack  ;  trades- 
people of  all  sorts  are  clamouring  for  their  money;  all  our  things  are 
got  ready  for  a  hasty  departure;  and  to-morrow,  ill  as  both  Captain 
and  Mrs.  Tremaine  are,  we  set  off  for  London. 

"James  will  see  this  letter  safely  in  the  post;  and  so  no  more 
at  present  from  your  loving  sister, 

"Jane  Ford." 


67 
CHAPTER    VI. 

DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAYS. 

Jane,  from  hearing  Mrs.  Tremaine  talk  of  their  "town 
house,"  and  their  "residence  in  London,"had  pictured  to 
herself  something  very  magnificent.  Tt  was  a  little  disap- 
pointment to  her,  therefore,  to  find  toe  house  small,  and 
deplorably  out  of  order.  Four  rooms  were  expensively 
furnished";  yet  even  these  had  a  second-hand  tarnished 
appoaranee.^- especially  by  daylight:  the  rest  of  the 
houSe  was  supplied  with  the  barest  necessaries,  all  of 
the  cheapest  description,  and  many  of  them  broken 
and  unsaleable.  Scarcely  a  window  in  the  back-rooms 
was  without  broken  glass,  or  would  shut  tightly:  all 
wanted  painting;  all  looked  dirty  and  neg-leeted.  Mrs. 
Tremaine  said,  all  this  was  the  work  of  a  family,  "a 
highly  respectable  family,  to  whom  they  let  the  house 
furnished  during  their  summer's  absence."  Jane  thought 
to  herself,  it  was  odd  the  place  should  get  so  out  of 
order  in  one  summer;  but  she  did  not  doubt  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine would  have  all  made  comfortable  before  long, 
especially  as  winter  was  coming-  on. 

"  I  must  advertise  for  a  cook,  and  housemaid,  and 
footman,"  said  Mrs.  Tremaine  to  Jane,  one  day;  "  in 
the  meantime,  you  must  manage  as  well  as  you  can: 
the  Captain  will  dine  at  his  club;  Norris  will  leave;  you 
can  cook  a  little  dinner  for  me;  we  will  get  all  in  order 
presently,  and  when  we  get  our  full  establishment,  you 
will  find  your  place  a  very  easy  one." 

Jane  put  the  house  in  order  as  well  as  she  could; 
waited  on  Mrs.  Tremaine  in  the  mornin<r;  cooked  a 
little  dinner  for  her  in  the  afternoon,  and  dressed  her 
in  the  evening  to  go  to  the  theatre,  or  some  place  of 
amusement.  The  Captain  dined  at  his  club;  Norris 
went;  and  she  found  herself  valet,  lady's-maid,  cook, 


68  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY    WAYS. 

and  housemaid,  all  in  one.  It  was  worse  than  living  at 
the  master  shoemaker^,  far  the  kitchen  was  so  cold, 
with  a  broken  window  and  two  ill-fitting  doors:  and  her 
bed-room  was  still  colder,  with  a  broken  skylight,  and 
only  one  blanket;  and  she  had  to  sit  up  so  late,  all 
alone,  with  not  a  soul  to  speak  to;  and  that  November 
in  London  was  so  foggy  and  dispiriting;  and  it  was  so 
cheerless  of  a  morning  getting  up  after  never  being  warm 
all  night;  and  the  kitchen  smoked  so,  and  was  really  so 
dingy  and  dirty,  do  what  she  would  to  make  it  clean, 
that  it  was  almost  enough  to  make  a  body  hang  them- 
selves, said  Jane;  and  she  certainly  should  do  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  if  it  were  not  for  the  hope  of  things 
mending. 

"  What's  amiss  with  you,  Ford'r"'  asked  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine,  astonished  one  day  at  her  handmaid's  altered 
appearance,  about  a  month  after  their  residence  in  Lon- 
don. Jane  replied,  that  she  was  not  well;  she  had  got 
such  a  bad  cold,  and  coughed  so  at  night.  She  must 
trouble  her  mistress,  she  said,  to  find  her  the  additional 
blanket  she  had  promised  her,  and  to  let  her  nave  the 
window  mended  in  her  bed-room,  for  the  snow  now  laid 
quite  in  a  heap  at  the  bed's  foot.  She  was  not  well, 
indeed,  she  said;  and,  having  made  this  confession,  she 
could  not  help  crying. 

"  You  must  notbe  low-spirited,  Ford,"  said  Mrs.Tre- 
maine;  "  I  have  advertised  for  a  footman;  we  shall  be 
suited  in  a  day  or  two,  and  then  you  must  not  sit  up  at 
nights;  and  as  for  a  cook,  you  manage  so  nicely  for  me 
— just  a  mutton  chop  or  so,  w  hich  is  all  I  want,  and  the 
kitchen  dinners  are  nothing,  you  know — that  I  think 
through  the  winter  we  will  manage  as  we  are.  I  will 
give  you  an  additional  pound  wages  this  half  year," 
added  the  lady  with  a  smile,  meant  to  be  gracious. 
Jane  thought  the  opportunity  a  good  one  to  speak  on 
a9ubject  which  pressed  heavily  on  her  mind;  therefore, 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS.  69 

as  modestly  as  she  could,  she  said,  "  She  must  trouble 
her  mistress  for  some  money;  she  was  sorry  to  be 
troublesome,  but  she  had  lived  now  with  them  six 
months,  and  had  only  received  one  pound;  she  wanted 
warm  winter  things;  she  was  sure  she  had  got  cold 
with  getting  wet  of  her  feet  the  other  night,  when  she 
fetched  a  coach  from  the  stand;  her  feet  really  were  on 
the  ground;  and  she  wanted  some  flannel  for  petticoats, 
and  some  warm  stockings;  perhaps  her  mistress  would 
be.»o  very  kind  as  to  pay  her  the  money  that  was  due." 

Mrs".  Tremaine  was  annoyed,  and  looked  so;  yet  she 
replied  <>he-e-rfully,  "  Yes,  surely,  Jane  should  have  the 
mouev,  but  she  was  afraid,  not  just  then;  Captain  Tre- 
maine had  a  deal  to  pay;  she  had  promised  Mrs.  Ma- 
rabot,  the  milliner,  her  bill,  but  that  she  certainly  should 
have  it  before  long;  in  the  meantime,  Jane  might  look 
among  her  shoes,  if  there  was  not  a  pair  of  walking 
shoes  that  would  fit  her."  Poor  Jane  knew  that  her  mis- 
tress's foot  was  much  smaller  than  hers;  so,  what  was  the 
use  of  looking  there?  "  Or,"  continued  Mrs.  Tremaine, 
"the  shoemaker  in  the  next  street,  Timmins,  or  what- 
ever his  name  was,  would  make  her  a  pair;  she  could 
pay  him  when  she  got  her  wages."  Jane  said  he  had 
already  refused  to  make  her  a  pair,  unless  he  was  sure 
of  the  money  on  deliver)';  and,  really,  she  said  she  had 
not  even  a  penny  to  buy  thread  to  mend  her  clothes 
with;  perhaps  Mrs.  Tremaine  could  advance  her  a 
pound  or  two. 

"  Don't  be  troublesome,  Ford,"  said  Mrs.  Tremaine; 
"  I'll  pay  you  the  whole  presently." 

Jane  was  disheartened:  poverty  will  crush  the  spirit 
even  of  a  strong  man;  and  she  sate  down  in  the  kitchen 
and  cried.  She  had  better,  she  thought,  have  remained 
with  Mrs.  Mainwaring  for  half  the  wages.  Only  think 
how  punctual  good  Mrs.  Mainwaring  was  with  the  five- 
and-twenty  shillings  wages  every  quarter  day,   even 


70  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANV  WAYS. 

before  the  clock  had  struck  twelve!  And  then  poor 
Rachel!  how,  with  no  money,  and  all  her  things  going 
to  rack  and  ruin,  was  she  ever  to  send  the  money  to 
Rachel  which  she  had  promised?  Oh,  it  was  enough 
to  make  her  cry! 

At  that  moment  a  woman  came  down  the  area  steps, 
with  a  bundle  in  her  hand,  and  knocked  at  the  kitchen 
door.  She  said  she  had  brought  the  livery  home,  which 
her  husband  had  been  refreshing,  and  there  was  the 
little  bill;  perhaps  Captain  Tremaine  would  be  so  good 
as  to  settle  it.  Her  husband,  she  said,  had  taken  the 
liberty  to  add  the  former  account,  which  had  been  left 
unpaid;  and.  as  they  had  their  rent  to  pay,  her  husband 
would  be  greatly  obliged  by  the  money. 

The  woman  was  middle-aged,  neat  and  clean,  with  a 
most  friendly  countenance.  Jane  thought  she  could  be 
no  Londoner,  but  must  come  out  of  the  country;  and, 
heavily  laden  as  her  heart  was,  it  warmed  towards  her. 

"  So  this,  then,  is  the  new  livery  for  our  new  foot- 
man," said  Jane,  as  the  woman  opened  the  bundle, 
and  placed  the  contents  on  the  table. 

"  You  may  well  call  it  new  livery,"  said  Mrs.  Evans, 
the  tailor's  wife,  flattered  by  the  word  new;  "  see 
what  the  revivifying  fluid  can  do:  this  suit  has  been 
worn  a  whole  year  and  a  half— he's  made  it  look  as 
good  as  new,  hasn't  he?" 

Jane  held  up  the  coat,  and  looked  at  the  crest  on 
the  buttons.  "  There  have  been  several  about  the 
place,"  said  she;  "  I  wonder  whether  one  is  really  en- 
gaged. But,  after  all,  how  does  one  know  that  this 
suit  will  fit  him?"  added  she,  taking  up  the  smartly- 
laced  waistcoat. 

"  Oh,  bless  you!"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  "he  must  fit  it. 
Gentlefolks  advertise  for  a  footman  just  the  size  of  their 
livery;  and  what's  the  use  of  any  one's  applying  if  he's 
two  or  three  irches  too  big  or  too  little?" 


DISCOMFORT   AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY   WAYS.  71 

u  But  suppose,"  argued  Jane,  "  one  man  who  did  not 
fit  the  suit  was  a  more  desirable  servant  than  one  that 
did?" 

"  That  matters  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Evans;  "he  must 
fit  the  livery,  or  he  won't  fit  the  place." 

Mrs.  Tremaine  sent  word  down  stairs  that  Mrs.  Evans 
must  leave  the  suit  of  livery  and  the  bill;  that  Captain 
Tremaine  was  from  home:  that  when  he  returned  he 
snould  see  't;  that  she  need  not  trouble  herself  to  come 
airain  about  the  money,  for  that  would  be  sent  before 
Iimi'ltV  The  <rood  woman  shook  her  head,  and  said  it 
w^s  ttrer' IstS't"' work  her  husband  would  do  for  Captain 
Tremaine;  that  if  they  had  asked  once  for  the  bill, 
they  had  asked  twenty  times;  that  it  was  very  hard 
upon  poor  tradesf'olks  to  be  thus  kept  out  of  their 
money;  they  had  a  lar^re  family,  she  said,  coming  up, 
and  her  husband  was  getting  an  old  man,  and  goodness 
knew  what  hard  work  they  had  to  make  things  meet  and 
tic.  She  said  it  was  now  more  than  two  years  since 
they  had  seen  the  shine  of  Captain  Tremaine's  money; 
and  they  had  made  livery  for  him,  and  bought  the  trim- 
mings, and  paid  for  them  themselves,  and  altered  the 
livery  again  and  refreshed  it— say  nothing  of  the  work 
they  had  done  for  Mr.  Norris,  for  which  they  had  got 
nothing;  nor  had  they  even  had  the  offer  of  so  much  as 
a  suit  of  old  clothes,  by  way  of  a  set-off  to  the  bill, 
though  her  husband  had  asked  it  so  often;  that  the  bill 
now  was  $!.  16*.  Of/.,  and  her  husband  would  be  quite 
out  of  his  senses  if  she  went  home  without  it. 

There  was  something  about  Mrs.  Evans  that  took 
Jane's  fancy  greatly;  she  felt  as  if  she  could  open  her 
neart  to  her,  and  ask  her  to  befriend  her,  if  ever  she 
wanted  a  friend;  but  then  she  remembered  all  the 
warnings  she  had  had  about  the  Londoners,  and  she 
resolved  to  trust  no  one.  Mrs.  Evans  went,  therefore, 
without  Jane  asking  her  even  where  she  lived. 


72  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAYS. 

The  footman,  who  fitted  the  livery,  came:  a  smart 
black-haired,  black-eyed,  nimble  youth  of  eighteen, 
whose  knowingness  in  the  London  world  frightened 
Jane  almost  out  of  her  mind.  He  had  a  world  of 
acquaintance,  who  were  admitted  by  the  area-steps, 
and  closetted  in  his  pantry  of  an  evening.  Oysters 
were  eaten  there,  and  purl  and  bottled  stout,  to  say 
nothing  of  wine,  drunk.  Altogether  there  was  quite  a 
new  life  below  stairs;  things  got  worse  and  worse  in  a 
new  way;  the  alteration  was  no  improvement,  and  Jane 
again  wished  herself,  hard  as  the  place  was,  sole  ser- 
vant in  it. 

She  needed  not  now  to  sit  up  for  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Tremaine,  but  neither  did  she  dare  go  to  bed;  she  did 
her  work  over-night  instead  of  in  the  morning,  and  then 
sate  by  the  fire  in  Mrs.  Tremaine's  dressing-room,  to 
keep  watch  over  everything  till  they  returned;  and 
then,  worn  out,  anxious,  and  far  from  well,  went  to  her 
own  room,  not  to  sleep,  but  to  freeze. 

Weeks  went  on,  and  nothing  was  said  about  her 
wages;  she  made  up  her  mind  to  leave,  and  inquired 
after  a  new  place  from  the  butcher  and  baker;  and 
wished  now  that  she  knew  where  that  friendly-faced 
Mrs.  Evans  lived,  for  to  her  she  would  have  applied 
for  advice  and  comfort,  of  which,  poor  girl,  she  stood 
so  much  in  need. 

One  night  she  was  sitting  in  her  mistress's  dressing- 
room  half  asleep,  when  she  heard  steps  on  the  stairs. 
It  was  not  her  mistress  returning,  for  these  steps  were 
stealthy  as  those  of  a  night-robber.  At  once  an  icy  thrill 
passed  through  her  frame,  as  if  her  heart  had  suspended 
its  motion,  and  the  next  moment  it  throbbed  so  loudly 
as  if  it  beat  upon  her  very  brain.  She  started  up,  and, 
seizing  the  candle,  rushed  to  the  door.  The  footman, 
Louis,  was  there,  and  another  man  also,  strong-built 
»nd  ill-looking,  with  coarse  fiery-red  hair  and  whiskers; 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS.  73 

they  seemed  as  much  astonished  as  she  was,  started 
back  for  one  moment,  and  the  next,  one  of  them  blew 
out  her  candle. 

"  Keep  out  of  this  room!"  exclaimed  Jane,  appalled 
by  this  action,  and  remembering  that  her  mistress's 
gold  watch  and  chain  lay  on  the  dressing-table.  The 
man  said  nothing,  but,  producing  a  dark  lantern,  at- 
tempted to  push  past  her.  "  You  may  murder  ine,  if 
you  will,"  said  Jane,  standing  firmly  in  the  doorway, 
"but'he.re  ycwi  shall  not  enter !" 

"Seize  her!— tie  her  hands! — gag  her!"  said  the 
strarjger,  m  a  fierce  voice,  and  with  a  terrible  oath. 
Louis  put  forth  his  hands  to  take  hold  of  her,  when 
Jane,  remembering  that  discretion  was  the  better  part 
of  valour,  and  that  nothing  of  value  lay  about  the  room, 
excepting  the  watch  and  chair,,  stepped  back,  and,  un- 
seen by  the  men,  for  the  room  was  dark,  snatched  it 
quickly  from  the  table,  and  retreating  as  if  for  security, 
into  a  corner,  where  a  small  sofa  stood,  thrust  it  under 
the  cushions.  The  two  ruffians  were  in  the  room 
glancing  furtively  round  by  the  twinkling  light  of  the 
dark  lantern;  they  spoke  together  in  an  undertone,  and 
the  next  moment  were  at  her  side.  She  felt  neither 
the  agony  nor  the  incapacity  of  fear,  but  as  if  she  would 
defend  her  own  life  or  her  master's  property  to  her  last 
gasp.  "In  God's  name!"  exclaimed  she,  advancing 
rather  than  retreating,  "keep  your  hands  off  me,  and 
quit  this  room  ! "  p 

The  two  looked  at  her  a  second  or  so,  with  a  mixed 
expression  of  fear  and  hatred,  and  then,  whispering 
something  to  each  other,  of  which  she  could  not  catch 
a  word,  Louis  burst  into  a  laugh,  and  said,  "  Ha !  ha ! 
we  only  wanted  to  frighten  you;  we  knew  you  were 
not  gone  to  bed  ! " 

"  It  was  a  wicked  thing,"  said  Jane,  not,  however, 
believing  a  word  they  said,  but  willing  that  the  affair 

H 


74  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WATS. 

should  take  such  a  turn,  "  to  try  to  frighten  me:  I  might 
have  gone  into  fits,  or  have  lost  my  senses." 

Without  another  word,  the  two  fellows  stole  softly 
out  of  the  room;  and,  while  Jane  heard  them  descend- 
ing the  stairs,  a  dizziness  came  over  her,  and  she  found 
herself  fainting.  She  was  naturally,  however,  too  hardy 
and  too  healthy  to  remain  long  in  a  fainting-fit;  she 
recovered,  and  recalled  instantly  what  had  happened. 
All  was  silent  in  the  house — the  near  church  clock 
struck  two — quarter  after  quarter  went  on,  that  seemed 
long  and  wearisome  as  hours;  all  still  was  silent,  and  then 
the  same  clock  struck  three;  and  then, the  next  moment, 
a  loud  ringing  at  the  street-door  announced  that  the 
Tremaincs  were  returned,  for,  strange  to  say,  that  night 
they  went  out  together.  Jane's  intention  was  to  have 
told  her  mistress  immediately  what  had  happened;  but 
a  dark  spot  on  the  brow  both  of  husband  and  wife  told 
her  then  was  not  the  time;  and,  at  the  command  of 
her  mistress,  who  was  angry  to  find  her  up  so  late, 
she  went  to  her  own  room. 

The  next  morning  Louis  was  all  smiles  and  assiduity; 
she  found  the  kitchen  fire  made,  and  the  coffee  ground, 
and  he  full  of  apologies  for  the  trick  they  had  put  upon 
her.  His  brother,  he  said,  happened  to  call  on  him 
that  night;  they  had  been  reading  in  the  newspaper 
the  account  of  the  great  house  robbery  in  the  Regent's 
Park,  and  they  wanted  to  see  whether  Jane  would 
behave  like  the  housemaid  ther^,  if  housebreakers  got 
in — that  was  all.  He  begged  she  would  never  say  a 
word  about  it,  and  Jane  might  depend  upon  it  they 
would  never  frighten  her  again. 

Jane  said  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  leave; 
that  it  was  a  shocking  thing  to  be  frightened;  she  should 
never  feel  safe  in  the  house  again;  and  that  Louis  might 
depend  upon  it  she  should  tell  her  mistress  of  his  having 
people  in  the  house  at  night.     Louis  uttered  half-intcl- 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS.  75 

ligiblc  threats,  looked  savage,  and  talked  of  revenge  if 
she  did  tell. 

Mrs.  Tremaine  rang  for  her  breakfast  earlier  this 
morning  than  usual.  She  said  that  in  a  week's  time 
they  would  have  a  large  evening  party,  and  began  to 
give  orders  respecting  such  alterations  and  preparations 
as  were  requisite.  Jane  begged  permission  to  say  a  few 
words:  in  the  first  place,  she  gave  warning  to  leave;  and 
secondly,  sho.  told  of  Louis's  doubtful  connexions,  and 
of  the  adventure  of  the  last  night,  producing,  while  she 
spoke*,"  the  watch  and  chain  from  under  the  sofa-cushion, 
where  she  rraif  concealed  them.  It  was  only  right,  she 
said*'- that  Captain  Tremaine  should  know  the  character 
of  his  servant;  and  again  she  must  repeat  her  intention 
of  leaving.  Mrs.  Tremaine  looked  annoyed  and  angry; 
said  there  was  nothing'  but  trouble  with  servants;  and 
she  must  say  she  was  vexed  that  this  had  happened 
before  their  party,  for  Louis  waited  so  well,  and  was 
such  a  smart,  useful  bey.  Aft«er  this,  of  course  he  must 
go;  Captain  Tremaine  must  discharge  him;  "  but,"  said 
she.  "  I  would  not  for  the  w,orld  have  him  before  the 
police,  unless  we  could  prove  something  against  him, 
for  one  never  knows  how  these  wretches  may  revenge 
themselves.  And,  as  to  you  leaving,  Ford,"  continued 
she,  "we  must  talk  about  that  another  time;  I  should  be 
sorry  to  part  with  you.  But  you  look  ill,  Ford.  You 
asked  me  the  other  day  for  some  syrup  of  squills  out  of 
my  medicine  chest;  I  am  sorry  I  forgot  them;  take 
the  keys  and  look  yourself."  Jane  took  the  keys,  but 
said  she  was  afraid  now  the  squills  would  do  her  no 
good;  she  felt  altogether  weak  and  poorly;  she  had  a 
ffreat  pain  in  her  chest,  and  her  cough  was  dreadful  at 
night;  she  wanted  to  get  a  doctor's  advice,  but  she  had 
no  money  to  pay  for  any  medicine;  she  must  again  beg 
to  have  her  wages. 

Mrs,  Tremaine  looked  distressed.     She  said  she  was 


76  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN    MANY  WAYS. 

sorry  she  bad  forgotten  the  wages;  birt  Jane  might  take 
that  plaid  wrapping-cloak  that  hung  in  the  closet  of  her 
dressing-room — it  would  keep  her  warm.  She  should 
really  be  paid  before  long,  she  might  rely  upon  it. 
There  was  nothing  in  all  this  to  satisfy;  it  was  only  the 
same  thing  which  had  been  fruitlessly  repeated  so  often. 
Jane  urged,  therefore,  that  her  mistress  would  clearly 
understand  her  intention  of  leaving,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  next  month  suit  herself  accordingly. 

"  So  kind  as  I  have  been,  Ford,"  said  her  mistress, 
"  I  think  it  ungrateful  of  you  to  serve  me  in  this  way. 
You  will  think  better  of  it;  I  am  sure  you  will,  Ford," 
said  she,  with  a  smile,  meant  to  be  insinuating,  "or  I 
have  been  sadly  mistaken  in  you.  Now  fetch  me  my 
breakfast,  and  then  get  the  syrup  of  squills." 

There  was  no  syrup  of  squills  in  that  never  reple- 
nished medicine-chest.  Mrs.  Tremain  said,  therefore, 
that  the  first  time  she  went  out  she  would  bring  her 
some;  or,  better  than  that,  she  should  go  out  that  very 

afternoon  and  get  the  advice  of  the  physician  in 

Street,  who  prescribed  for  the  poor  gratis. 

In  the  afternoon,  Louis  came  laughing  down  into  the 
kitchen:  he  had  got  his  discharge,  he  said;  Captain 
Tremaine  thought  he  might  get  a  better  service — would 
give  him  a  good  character,  too,  any  day,  and  had  paid 
him  his  wages,  even  a  month  in  advance,  and  that  he 
was  going  to  leave.  He  had  to  thank  Jane  for  this,  he 
said,  with  a  grin,  which,  whether  it  was  one  of  aversion 
or  triumph,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  decide.  Con- 
sidering how  impossible  it  was  for  her  to  get  a  penny 
of  her  wages,  nothing  could  be  more  galling  than  to  see 
the  worthless  Louis  exhibiting  wages  which  he  even 
bad  not  won,  much  less  deserved;  she  determined,  there- 
fore, to  go  to  Captain  Tremaine  herself  to  demand  hers. 

The  Captain,  who  was  buttoning  up  his  coat  prepa- 
ratory to  going  out,  seemed  astonished  at  her  audacity; 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAYS.  77 

said  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  women  servants' wag-es; 
took  up  his  cane,  and  left  the  house. 

There  was  no  time  for  Jane  to  go  to  the  physician 
in Street  that  day,  nor  the  next;  and,  as  Mrs.  T  re- 
clame stopped  at  home  both  days,  no  syrup  of  squills 
was  bought  for  her,  though  her  cough  got  worse  and 
worse,  and  she  felt  more  and  more  weak  and  dis- 
heartened, with  symptoms  of  approaching  illness.  Mrs. 
Tremaine  herself,  in  the  meantime,  seemed  anxious  and 
uneusy;  and,  though  her  husband  did  not  return,  as 
she -seemed  to  expect  each  evening,  she  busied  herself 
with  jHtpnning  how  their  great  evening  party  was  to  be 
arr^nsred.  The  upholsterer  came  for  the  rehanging  of 
the  drawing-room  curtains;  the  dressmaker  sent  home 
anew  velvet  dress;  yet,  never  did  lady  look  more  ill  at 
ease,  or  more  unassured.  Something  was  evidently 
going  wrong. 

At  this  time  Mrs.  Evans  made  her  appearance  again; 
she  was  sent,  she  said,  by  her  husband  for  the  money, 
and  was  not  to  leave  the  house  till  it  was  paid. 

"  Oh,  why,  in  Heaven's  name,  does  she  come  bother- 
ing here  about  the  money  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tremaine, 
roused  up  from  a  revery  by  the  message  which  Jane 
had  to  deliver.  "  I  have  not  the  money,  and  it's  no  use 
asking  me  for  it!"  added  she,  as  Jane  continued  to 
stand  by  the  sofa  on  which  she  lav. 

"  Am  1  to  tell  her  so  ma'am  ?"  asked  Jane,  unwilling 
to  do  so. 

"No — better  not,  perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Tremaine; 
"but  ble>s  me,  how  you  keep  coughing;  it  makes  me 
quite  ill  to  hear  yen:  and  really  you  look  ill,  Ford," 
said  Mrs.  Tremaine,  seeming  astonished  bv  the  poor 
girl's  appearance;  "you  are  ill,  I  do  believe".  Ask  this 
woman  if  she  cannot  come  and  stop  here  a  day  or  two: 
I  dare  say  she  goes  out;  and  then,  Ford,  we  will  try  to 
get  you  well,"  said  Mrs.  Tremaine,  in  a  tone  of  voice  go 

h2 


78  DISCOMFORT  AND   TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAYS. 

jund,  that,  ill  and  out  of  spirits  as  Jane  was,  filled  hei 
eyes  with  tears:  "  Tell  Mrs.  Evans,"  continued  she 
"that  as  soon  as  Captain  Tremaine  returns  they  shall 
be  paid;  he  will  return  most  likely  to-night.  Roast  me 
that  partridge,  Ford,  and  with  white  bread-sauce  and  a 
couple  or  so  of  roasted  potatoes,  quite  hot;  I  shall  need 
nothing  more." 

Mrs.  Evans,  from  some  cause  or  other,  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  Jane;  so,  spite  of  being  angry  about  the  non- 
payment of  the  bill,  she  sate  and  talked  with  hei  in  the 
kitchen  all  the  time  she  was  preparing  her  little  dinner 
for  her  mistress.  She  advised  her  to  get  another  place; 
said  the  Tremaines  paid  nobody,  as  Jane  must  know. 
Jane  knew  that  well  enough,  for  baker,  butcher,  grocer, 
all  tradespeople  whatever,  demanded  money,  yet  got 
none.  Jane  said  she  hadn't  seen  anybody  paid  but 
Louis;  and  she  must  confess,  it  hurt  her  to  see  him, 
bad  as  he  was,  paid  more  than  his  just  due,  and  flat- 
tered into  the  bargain.  Neither  Captain  nor  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine had  even  thanked  her  for  what  she  had  done 
that  night.  Mrs.  Evans  said,  most  people  would  have 
given  her  a  guinea,  or  a  new  gown,  for  what  she  had 
done. 

How  comfortably  sympathetic  Mrs. Evans  was!  Jane 
felt  as  if  it  did  her  good  to  complain,  although  her 
listener  kept  assuring  her  that  certainly,  with  that 
dreadful  deep-seated  cough,  she  would  go  off  in  aeon- 
sumption;  and  that,  if  she  didn't  get  advice,  the  most 
likely  thing  in  the  world  was  that  she  would  have  a 
pleurisy,  as  the  servant  last  winter  had,  for  the  house 
was  colder  than  any  barn,  and  Mrs.  Tremaine  had  no 
conscience  in  sending  out  for  coaches,  let  it  be  as  wet 
as  it  would.  Oh,  it  was  pleasant  to  have  somebody  to 
talk  with  down  in  that  comfortless  kitchen,  though  that 
somebody  might  take  even  as  gloomy  views  of  things 
as  Mrs.  Evans  did.     And  poor  Jane  mended  the  fire, 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAYS.  79 

and  swept  up  the  hearth,  as  soon  as  the  little  dinnei 
was  cooked,  in  order  to  entice  Mrs.  Evans  to  prolong 
her  stay. 

In  reply  to  Mrs.  Tremaine's  request,  that  Mrs.  Evans 
would  come  and  stay  a  day  or  two  in  the  house,  that 
Jane  might  be  nursed,  she  replied,  she  never  went 
out  to  work;  but  this  she  would  do — she  would  run  to 
the  apothecary's,  and  get  a  blister  for  Jane's  chest, 
which  was  what  she  wanted,  and  come  the  first  thing 
the  Miext  morning  to  dress  it;  and  if  Mrs.  Tremaine 
likedrshe  could  recommend  a  good  char-woman  to  her. 
Mrs.  Tr-^mairre  said  she  would  think  about  this.  She 
hop'cd  Jane  was  not  so  ill  as  to  need  a  blister;  but 
however,  if  Mrs.  Evans  would  come  and  dress  it  in  the 
morning,  she  might  have  one. 

Mrs.  Evans  brought  the  blister,  and  then,  finding  the 
fire  burning  up  cheerfully, and  the  hearth  warm,  she  sate 
down  again  for  a  further  gossip.  She  told  Jane  that 
they  lived  in  Drury  Lane;  that  her  husband  was  twenty 
years  older  than  herself;  that  they  repaired  and  refitted 
gentlemen's  suits;  that  her  husband  was  the  inventor 
of  the  famous  "original  improved  revivifying  fluid," 
which  makes  rusty  black  as  good  as  new.  She  said 
they  should  have  been  rich  people  now,  it  they  had  not 
had  the  misfortune  to  neglect  insuring  a  house  and 
shop,  their  own  property,  in  which  they  lived,  and 
which  was  burnt  down.  Mrs.  Evans  cried  at  this  part 
of  her  narrative,  and  then  cheered  herself  up  again,  by 
telling  what  a  good  husband  her's  was — sober^  indus- 
trious, and  irood-tempcrcd,  although  he  was  getting  old. 
They  had  lodgers,  she  said,  who  lived  in  their  spare 
rooms,  mostly  players  belonging  to  the  theatre;  and, 
besides  their  own  five  children,  she  hail  a  Lrrown-up 
son  of  her  own,  for  she  was  a  widow  w  hen  Evans  mar- 
ried her;  a  good  son  he  was,  and  lived  in  gentlemen's 
•ervice.      Many   were   the   interruptions   which    had 


80  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS. 

I 

occurred  during  this  narrative,  from  the  ringing  of  Mrs. 
Tremaine's  bell,  and  the  sympathy  of  Mrs.  Evans  with 
Jane's  shortness  of  breath  and  terrible  coughing. 
"  Well,  if  that  poor  thing  is  alive  this  time  next  year/' 
said  she  to  herself,  as  Jane  took  up  a  letter  which  the 
postman  had  brought,  "she  may  thank  a  better  consti- 
tution than  most  folks':  it's  all  the  sound  of  a  church- 
yard cou»h — that  it  has!" 

The  next  moment  Jane  came  to  the  head  of  the 
kitchen  stairs,  and  summoned  Mrs.  Evans  to  her  help. 
Her  mistress,  she  said,  had  sunk  senseless  on  the  floor, 
after  reading  the  letter.  She  had  helped  her  to  the 
sofa;  she  had  been  in  another  dead  fit  since — would 
Mrs.  Evans  only  just  come  up  stairs,  and  see  what 
could  be  done? 

"  Let  me  go  to  bed,  Ford,"  said  the  unfortunate 
lady,  holding  the  letter  which  had  occasioned  all  her 
agitation,  tightly  crumbled  in  her  hand;  "  I  am  very- 
ill:  let  me  go  to  bed." 

Mrs.  Evans  offered  a  bottle  of  smelling-salts  from  her 
pocket,  and  proposed  to  run  for  a  physician;  both  of 
which  Mrs.  Tremaine  declined,  desiring  her,  rather 
unceremoniously,  to  leave  her  alone  with  her  maid. 

"  Ford,"  said  she,  after  a  while,  and  after,  by  the 
light  of  the  lamp  which  stood  by  her  bedside,  she  had 
re-read  the  letter  two  or  three  times,  "  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  the  truth;  I  can  trust  in  you,  Ford,  though  1  could 
trust  in  no  living  creature  beside." 

Jane,  touched  by  her  mistress's  words,  and  perhaps 
a  little  flattered  by  the  confidence  about  to  be  reposed 
in  her,  leant  forward  over  the  bed;  and  her  mistress, 
hastily  thrusting  her  thin  hair  under  her  handsome 
night-cap,  and  pouring  eau-de-cologne  into  the  palms 
of  her  bands,  began.  "  Captain  Tremaine  has  left 
England!  —  Oh,  my  God!  left  me  to  face  his  creditors 
and  ruin — me,  a  weak  woman,  without  a  single  friend 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS.  81 

m  the  world  from  whom  I  may  ask  either  counsel  ot 
help!" 

"  Dear  ma'am,  are  there  none  of  those  who  come  to 
the  party?"  meekly  suggested  Jane. 

"  Party  ! "  repeated  Mrs.  Tremaine,  with  a  scornful 
laugh;  "no,  no!  I  have  not  a  single  friend  in  this  world; 
and  here  am  I,  left  to  face  that  misery  and  disgrace 
which  Tremaine  dare  not  face.  Oh,  the  cruelty,  the 
selfish  cruelty  of  this,  will  drive  me  mad!" 

J^ne  knew  not  what  to  say;  she  chafed  the  temples 
of  the" poor  lady,  who  had  now  sunk,  apparently  insen- 
sible, on  the  pillow;  she  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
her  Forehead,  and  gave  her  wine  and  water  to  drink: 
but  what  could  she  say  ?  She  saw,  too  clearly,  that 
she  too,  a  stranger  in  London,  was  a  beggar.  Dismay, 
distress  of  mind,  apprehension  for  the  future,  crushed 
her  down  to  the  earth.  She  said  not  a  word,  however, 
of  her  own  troubles,  but  sought  onlv  for  something:  of 
consolation  to  say  to  her  mistress. 

"Oh,  good  God!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tremaine,  as  if 
thinking  aloud,  "  better  ten  thousand  times  to  earn  the 
bread  one  eats  by  day-labour — to  live  on  bread  and 
water,  than  be  devoured  by  fears  of  that  day  of  reck- 
oning which  will  come,  and  which  now,"  added  she, 
in  a  voice  almost  sepulchral,  "  has  come  !  What  have 
I  known  of  pleasure,  or  peace  of  mind,  for  three  years? 
and  now  to  be  left  thus! — oh,  my  God  !  to  be  left  thus!" 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  only  just  to  listen,"  said  Jane 
at  length,  "and  don't  think  it  impertinent."  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine turned  her  eyes  upon  her,  and  seemed  to  wait 
her  words. 

"  I  have  heard  you  speak,"  said  Jane,  "  of  an  old 
gentleman  in  Glamorganshire — your  father;  cannot 
you,  please,  ma'am,  go  to  him?  will  not  he  help  you?" 
Jane  would  have  spcken  of  the  parable  of  the  prodigal 
•on,  but  she  feared  that  might  be  too  great  a  liberty. 


82  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS. 

"My  father!"  returned  the  lady;  "yes,  T  remains 
tells  me  to  go  to  my  father;  but  I  married  against  my 
father's  will:  I  left  a  home,  an  earthly  paradise,  for  a 
husband  who  neglected  me!  For  ten  years  I  have 
never  seen  my  father:  he  would  not,  perhaps,  receive 
me,  if  I  went  down  on  my  knees  at  his  door:  he  fore- 
told this,  that  has  now  happened,  ten  years  ago! — he 
never  liked  my  husband;  and,  for  anything  I  know, 
he  may  have  ceased  to  love  me  also;"  and  poor  Mrs, 
Tremaine,  overcome  by  her  feelings,  buried  her  face 
in  the  pillow,  and  wept. 

Jane  stood  speechless,  wondering  what  was  to  be 
done;  when,  casting  up  her  eyes,  she  saw  Mrs.  Evans 
on  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  half  concealed  by  the  cur- 
tain.    She  had  heard  all. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  ma'am,"  said  she,  before  Mrs. 
Tremaine  lifted  her  head  from  the  pillow,  "to  press 
an  unpleasant  subject;  but,  seeing  as  how  things  have 
come  to  this  pass  what  am  I  to  say  to  my  husband 
about  the  money?" 

"  The  money!"  repeated  Mrs.  Tremaine,  raising  her- 
self again  in  the  bed,  and  in  a  tone  of  voice  much  calmer 
than  Jane  expected,  "  take  back  the  livery,  and  any 
clothes  of  Captain  Tremaine's  that  are  left.  Look  in 
the  wardrobe,  Ford,  in  his  dressing-room.  I  am  sure 
there  are  plenty  of  clothes  there  to  cover  Evans's  bill. 
And  good  Mrs.  Evans,"  added  she,  in  a  beseeching 
tone  of  voice,  "  say  nothing  of  what  has  happened.  I 
have  behaved  handsomely  to  you,  and  I  trust  to  your 
honour." 

The  tailor's  wife,  who  was  by  no  means  implacable, 
said  she  was  sorry  for  all  this  misfortune,  and  hoped  it 
would  after  all  turn  out  well.  She  was  quite  satisfied 
the  bill  should  be  so  settled;  she  would  take  home  the 
clothes  in  a  cab,  and  say  nothing  to  any  one.  And 
thus,  greatly  to  her  satisfaction,  a  cab  conveyed  her 


DISCOMFORT   AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS.  83 

and  a  quantity  of  scarcely  half  worn-out  apparel — say 
nothing  of  the  suit  of  liven' — into  Drury  Lane. 

Mrs.  Tremaine  forgot  how  ill  Jane  was,  and  that 
she  had  a  blister  that  ought  to  have  been  put  on  that 
night :  she  forgot,  in  short,  everything  but  her  own 
misfortunes  which,  overwhelming  as  tliev  were,  were 
by  no  mearfs  unexpected;  for  both  she  and  her  husband 
had  known  for  years  that,  as  sure  as  night  succeeds  to 
day,  a  terrible  crisis  in  their  affairs  would  come;  and 
now>it  was  come.  Captain  Tremaine  would  be  de- 
clared-bankrupt; his  furniture  given  up  to  his  creditors; 
he  wonJ4-se<*krhis  fortunes  in  a  new  land;  and  his  wife, 
who'oi  he  had  ceased  to  love,  must  take  the  advice  he 
had  given  her — like  a  second  prodigal,  throw  herself 
upon  the  tender  mercies  of  her  lather;  who,  however, 
probably,  unlike  the  father  in  the  gospel,  woidd  neither 
receive  her  with  open  arms,  nor  make  rejoicing  on  her 
account. 

Mrs.  Tremaine  lay  on  her  bed,  overwhelmed  by  the 
dark  and  uncertain  prospect  before  her,  more  ill  ni  mind 
than  body;  while  poor  Jane,  who  sate  till  past  mid- 
night watching  by  her  side,  no  less  agitated  and  dis- 
pirited than  she,  was  becoming  the  prey  of  cruel  sick- 
ness, which  there  was  then  no  time  to  ward  off.  She 
was  without  money,  without  friends,  without  a  home ! 
What  was  to  become  of  her?  Known  only,  too,  as 
connected  with  miserable  spendthrift  bankrupts,  whom 
every  tradesman  would  curse — what  indeed  was  to 
become  of  her?  She  thought  of  kind-hearted  Mrs. 
Griffiths,  of  Mark,  of  her  brother  John,  of  the  Main- 
warings,  even  of  her  own  unhappy  family;  and  how 
gloomily,  hopelessly  wretched,  seemed  her  prospects ! 

In  the  dead  of  the  night,  Mrs.  Tremaine,  who  had 
been  deciding  on  her  own  plans  of  action — not  sleep- 
ing, as  Jane  had  imagined — rose  up  in  her  bed,  and 
•aid  she  must  instantly  get  up  and  prepare  for  hor 


84  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS. 

departure  ;  that  the  next  evening  she  would  set  off  by 
the  mail  to  her  father's  house;  and  that,  in  the  mean 
time,  she  and  Jane  must  busy  themselves  in  preparations 
for  their  departure.  Jane  made  up  the  fire  in  the  bed- 
room, fetched  down  trunks  and  portmanteaus;  and,  at 
the  command  of  her  mistress,  packed  up  all  her  clothes, 
plate,  and  such  valuables  as  she  could  convey  away. 
The  dull  cold  light  of  a  foggy  February  morning  crept 
in  through  the  windows  as  they  were  in  the  midst  of 
this  occupation.  "  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Tremaine, 
"you  must  go  and  take  my  place  by  the  Bristol  maii 
to-night." 

Bristol!  how  it  struck  upon  her  heart!  for  her  brother 
was  there — a  new  hope  cheered  her  at  once:  would 
not  her  mistress  take  her  with  her?  In  Bristol,  at 
least,  she  had  a  friend — oh,  might  not  she  too  go 
there  ?  Her  mistress  peremptorily  refused.  Bristol 
was  but  one  stage  of  her  journey,  she  said,  nor  could 
she  afford  to  take  a  servant  with  her.  She  wondered 
at  Jane  asking  it;  she  could  soon  get  another  place  in 
London — Mrs.  Evans  would  get  her  one. 

"But  my  wages!"  said  Jane,  roused  into  energy 
rather  by  the  manner  than  the  words  of  her  mistress: 
"  am  I  to  be  left  here  without  wages?" 

"  Don't  begin  on  that  subject  now,"  said  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine; "and  don't  speak  so  impertinently,  Ford." 

"  I  declare  to  you,  ma'am,"  returned  Jane,  in  a  tone 
meant  to  be  one  of  the  deepest  civility,  "  that  1  have 
not  a  farthing  to  bless  myself  with.  I  have  suffered 
more  in  your  service  than  I  ever  suffered  in  my  life 
before.  Eight  months'  wages  are  due;  I  feel  that  I 
am  going  to  be  ill;  London  is  a  wicked  place;  and 
what's  to  become  of  me  ?  You  brought  me  here, 
ma'am,  and  it  is  your  bounden  duty  to  see  that  I  am 
not  turned  into  the  streets  of  London  a  beggar. 

"How  can  you  talk  so,  Ford?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAYS.  8fl 

Tremainej,  "  so  distressed  as  I  am,  how  can  you  talk 

**  The  money  that  is  honestly  duo  to  me,"  continued 
Jane,  "  I  must  have.  I  am  sorry  to  make  you  angry, 
ma'am;  but  poor  servants  are  flesh  and  blood,  as  well 
a*  iheir  betters;  and  this,  Mrs.  Tremaine,  is  the 
6olemn  truth — I  will  not  stir  out  of  this  house  to  do 
a  single  errand  for  you,  without  my  wages,  or  security 
for  them.  Mrs.  Evans,"  continued  she,  leaning  against 
the  -door,  for.  she  felt  excited  almost  to  fainting,  "had 
not  agister  claim  on  you  than  I  have!  Night  and 
day,  day  atid-nlght,  have  I  served  you  !  For  Heaven's 
sake',",  ma'am,  do  not  leave  me  a  beggar  in  London!" 

"  Well,  Ford,"  the  lady  replied,  "  I  did  not  think 
you  would  have  treated  me  in  this  way;  and  yet," 
added  she,  the  moment  afterwards,  "  I  don't  blame 
yon.  You  have  served  me  faithfully;  and,  though  I 
cannot  give  you  money,  you  shall  have  money's  worth. 
Fetch  me  the  new  time-piece  from  the  drawing-room." 

Jane  did  so:  it  was  of  beautiful  workmanship,  and 
had  been  won  in  a  raffle  by  Captain  Tremaine  some 
months  before.  "  Its  worth,"  said  she,  "  is  at  least 
twenty  pounds." 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  that's  sadly  too  much,"  said  Jane. 

"  No,  no,"  returned  her  mistress,  who  found  it  easy 
to  give  away  what  she  herself  could  not  remove,  "it 
will  be  taken  at  half  its  value  by  the  creditors.  1  owe 
you  more  than  your  bare  wages;  take  it  now  into 
your  own  room,  and  put  it  securely  among  your  own 
things;  and  go  then,  and  take  my  place  by  the  Bristol 
mail  for  this  evening 

Jane  said,  which  was  true,  that  she  felt  very  ill;  she 
thought  Mrs.  Evans  would  most  likely  come  in  the 
course  of  the  morning;  and  besides,  that  she  did  not 
know  the  way  to  the  office.  Mrs.  Tremaine  was,  how- 
ever, too  impatient  to  secure  her  own  early  departure, 

l 


86  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN   MANY  WAYS. 

to  risk  even  the  delay  of  an  hour.  She  srave  Jane  the 
money  requisite  for  her  own  fare,  and  to  pay  for  a  cab  for 
herself,  from  the  nearest  stand  and  Jane,  much  easier 
in  her  mind,  now  that  she  had  her  mistress's  pledge  in 
her  hand,  wrapped  herself  up  as  warmly  as  she  could, 
and  hastened  to  do  her  bidding. 

By  nine  o'clock  that  night,  Mrs.  Treinaine,  with  all 
her  trunks  and  portmanteaus,  was  on  her  way  to  Bristol. 
Mrs.  Evans  came  to  spend  the  night  with  Jane,  who, 
too  ill  to  keep  up  any  longer,  put  on  the  too  long- 
delayed  blister,  and  went  to  bed  in  her  late  mistress's 
chamber. 

By  break  of  day,  a  loud  ringing  at  the  street-bell 
aroused  them.  Louis  had  spread  the  news,  which  he 
nad  gained,  nobody  knew  how,  of  Mrs.  Tremaine's 
departure;  and  now  came  the  landlord,  with  proper 
officers,  to  secure  the  furniture;  and  next  came  creditors, 
claiming  to  know  if  what  they  had  heard  were  really 
true; — all  ending  by  curses  loud  and  deep  on  the 
debtors,  who  had  so  recklessly  escaped  their  hands. 

It  was  no  time  then  for  invalids  in  the  house.  Mrs. 
Evans  seemed  like  another  Mrs.  Griffiths;  she  hastily 
dressed  the  blister,  and  undertook  to  pacify  the  noisy 
people,  whilst  Jane  went  to  look  after  her  own  few 
possessions,  and  above  all  things,  to  secure  the  pledge 
for  her  unpaid  wages.  Unfortunately,  poor  girl,  she 
had  now  bitterly  to  deplore  the  want  of  those  two 
respectable  papered  trunks,  which  had  been  left  at 
Nottingham.  Every  trunk  and  portmanteau,  large  and 
small,  had  been  taken  by  the  Tremaines;  nothing 
remained  for  her  use  but  one  broken  deal  box,  and  two 
worn-out  bandboxes;  and  being,  as  we  know,  a  ser- 
vant girl  who  had  prided  herself  on  her  respect- 
ability, we  need  not  wonder  now  at  her  being  ashamed 
of  that  array  of  invalid  boxes  and  unsightly  bundles, 
which  at  best  have  a  thriftless,  poverty-stricken  look. 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAY?.  87 

But  it  was  no  time  now  to  stand  pondering  or  deploring 
The  time-piece  was  wrapped  in  a  flannel  petticoat,  and 
made,  of  course,  the  most  valuable  contents  of  the  old 
deal  box;  and  each  bundle  was  made  up  as  compactly 
as  possible  in  an  apron  or  a  shawl. 

Jane  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  drawing-room  door, 
to  hear  what  the  people  were  talking  so  loudly  about. 
"  I'll  take  my  Bible-oath  of  it,"  said  Louis,  to  the  man 
who  was  making  an  inventory  of  the  goods,  "  that  it 
stood  here— a  French  time-piece,  worth  twenty  or 
thirty-guineas!" 

••  It  was  --be  re  yesterday/  said  Mrs.  Evans,  "for  1 
saw'.it  myself." 

A  sickness  came  over  Jane,  and  she  felt  almost  as 
frightened  as  if  she  had  been  guilty  of  stealing  it.  In 
her  hurry  and  confusion  she  had  forgotten  to  tell  Mrs. 
Evans  that  the  time-piece  had  been  given  to  her. 

"  That's  the  maid-servant,"  said  Louis,  pointing  to 
her;  "  you  can  ask  her  about  it." 

All  eyes  were  turned  at  once  upon  her,  and  she,  fear- 
ing to  lose  the  only  pledge  she  had  for  payment,  turned 
pale,  which  many  attributed  to  guilt.  "  Yes,  gentle- 
men," she  said,  rousing  herself,  however,  "the  time- 
piece was  there  yesterday,  but  Mrs.  Tremaine  gave  it 
to  me  instead  of  my  wages" 

"  A  likely  thing!  "  "  Fetch  it  down  !"  "  Give  it  up 
instantly!"  "  We'll  have  her  boxes  searched  !"  together 
with  a  malicious  laugh  from  Louis,  rung  at  once  upon 
her  ear,  and  the  assembly  of  suspicious,  angry  men 
gathered  about  her;  while  Mrs.  Evans,  half  in  trouble 
and  half  in  suspicion,  looked  on,  and  said  nothing. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Jane,  in  a  tone  of  conscious  inno- 
cence, "  I  have  taken  nothing  but  what  was  given  me 
as  my  due.  I  have  lived  in  this  family  for  eight  months, 
and  have  received  but  one  pound  of  my  wages.  I  am 
a  stranger  in  London;  I  must  pay  for  whatever  I  have, 


88  DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN    MANY  WAYS. 

till  I  get  another  service;  I  have  not  a  farthing  of 
money  in  the  world.  Mrs.  Tremaine  knew  this;  she 
said  she  could  give  me  no  money,  but  that  I  should 
have  the  time-piece.  I  am  honest;  indeed,  gentlemen, 
I  am!"  said  Jane,  just  ready  to  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  witnesses  have  you?"  asked  somebody. 

"Oh,  good  gracious!  none!"  said  Jane,  catching 
against  a  piece  of  furniture  to  prevent  her  falling,  for  she 
felt  herself  becoming  deathly  faint.  "  I  never  thought," 
added  she,  after  a  momentary  pause,  "  but  that  all  was 
right,  or  I  would  have  asked  missis  to  tell  Mrs.  Evans, 
there.     But  upon  my  soul,  every  word  I  say  is  true!" 

"  We  must  have  the  time-piece,  however,"  said  one 
voice.  "  We  must  have  your  boxes  searched,"  said 
another.  "  It's  but  little  we  shall  get  at  best,"  said  a 
third,  "and  a  thirty  pound  time-piece  is  too  much  for 
your  share  of  eight  months'  wages."  The  landlord  said, 
that  rent  and  servants'  wages  must  be  first  paid.  The 
time-piece  must  be  given  up;  it  was  a  pity  she  ever 
had  it;  but  that,  notwithstanding,  if  she  could  bring 
witnesses,  or  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Tremaine,  to  say  how 
much  was  due  to  her,  he  would  stand  her  friend. 

It  was  a  comfortable  thing  to  hear  anybody  talk  of 
standing  her  friend;  so,  as  the  landlord  said,  the  best 
way  to  pacify  everybody,  was  to  let  her  things  be 
searched.  Mrs.  Evans  followed  her  out  to  help  her 
with  them  down  stairs;  saying  to  her,  the  moment  they 
were  out  of  hearing,  •'  Why  did  you  not  appeal  to  me 
as  a  witness,  child?  I'd  have  stuck  to  you  through  thick 
and  thin.     Lord,  what  a  set  of  brutes  they  are  !" 

Jane  thought  Mrs.  Evans's  morality  was  not  tne  most 
precise  in  the  world,  but  she  could  not  at  that  moment 
quarrel  with  it.  She  wiped  away  her  tears,  felt  very 
wretched,  and,  having  carried  down,  with  her  friend's 
help,  the  bandboxes,  bundles,  and  broken  box  into  the 
drawing-room,  without  saying  a  word,  but  with  a  bitter 


DISCOMFORT  AND  TROUBLE  IN  MANY  WAYS.  89 

sensation  of  shame  and  humiliation  that  she  was  sus- 
pected even  of  dishonesty,  opened  her  miserable  pos- 
sessions; and  then,  taking  out  the  time-piece,  stood 
aside,  that  all,  if  they  pleased,  might  search  farther. 
The  feeling  towards  her  was  various,  according  to  the 
natural  dispositions  of  the  different  persons.  Such  as 
were  capable  of  such  an  act  themselves,  believed  her 
to  have  purloined  the  time-piece;  those  who  were  not, 
behoved  her  to  be  honest,  and  pitied  her  from  the 
bottewr  of  their  hearts. 

"  \V!>y-co;>ld  not  you  say  Mrs.  Tremaine  had  taken 
the  time-piece  with  her?"  asked  Mrs.  Evans  of  Jane, 
as  they  two  were  driving  that  evening  to  her  house  in 
Drury  Lane. 

"  How  could  I  ?"  asked  Jane,  not  a  little  astonished. 

"  Every  bit  as  well  as  saying  it  was  given  to  you, 
and  then  lose  it  after  all.  I  call  that  playing  a  very 
bad  game,"  said  Mrs.  Evans. 

"  Oh  clear!"  said  Jane,  "  I  hope  you  don't  think  I 
told  a  story  about  it,  and  took  it  without  her  leave. 
I  do  assure  you  every  word  I  said  is  true  :  I  should 
be  miserable  if  I  thought  you  believe  me  such  a  girl 
as  that." 

"  Well,  well,  I  will  believe  you,"  said  Mrs.  Evans  ; 
but  whether  she  really  did  believe  her  or  not,  Jane 
could  not  tell.  And  this  little  conversation  took  away 
all  the  pleasure  she  had  the  moment  before  felt  in 
thinking  she  had  a  friend  in  London,  and  almost  all 
her  gratitude  too. 

CHAPTER   VII. 

OUT  OF  PLACE NOT  THE    CHAPTER,   BUT   THE    MAID- 
SERVANT. 

Thx  illness,  which  had  been  so  long  coming  on, 
came  with  redoubled  force,  not  only  from  neglect  and 

12 


90  OUT  OF  PLACE  —  NOT  THE  CHAPTER, 

cold,  but  from  anxiety  of  mind  also;  and,  on  the  third 
day  after  Jane  Ford  had  so  miserably  left  the  Tre- 
niaines,  she  was  laid  on  an  hospital- bed,  in  a  state  of  the 
utmost  danger  from  inflammation  of  the  chest. 

Six  weeks  after  this,  one  fine  balmy  afternoon, 
towards  the  end  of  April,  she  reclined,  half-dressed, 
but  still  weak  almost  as  a  child,  on  a  bed  in  the  con- 
valescent ward.  There  was  nothing  very  cheering,  we 
may  be  sure,  in  the  poor  servant  girl's  prospects.  There 
she  was  in  London,  far  from  her  own  family,  and  out  of 
place,  sick  and  a  stranger,  poor  and  comparatively 
friendless,  yet,  even  spite  of  all  this,  now,  in  the  amend- 
ing state  of  her  health,  and  influenced  also  somewhat  by 
the  cheering  prospect  of  spring  sunshine  through  the 
windows,  she  could  not  resist  hope  budding  forth  in 
her  heart,  like  the  unfolding  flowers  of  the  season. 
Yes,  she  thought,  things  might — things  certainly  would 
mend;  and,  had  she  not  received  great  kindness  from 
the  tailor's  family  in  Drury  Lane?  and  might  she  not, 
before  long,  have  a  letter  from  John,  in  answer  to  the 
one  she  wrote  him  just  before  she  left  the  Tremaines? 
And  Mrs.  Griffiths,  too,  would  not  she  certainly  answer 
the  letter  Mrs.  Evans  had  written  to  her,  nearly  a 
month  ago,  to  tell  her  how  badly  things  had  gone  with 
her  in  London  ?  And,  above  all,  was  not  she  getting 
better?  and  was  she  not  young?  and  might  not  she 
soon  get  another  place?  and  then  she  could  repay  the 
fifteen  shillings  which  Mrs.  Evans  bad  lent  her.  Oh, 
yes!  yes!  her  heart  answered;  and,  spite  of  an  hospital 
ward,  and  spite  of  weakness  and  poverty,  and  the  vast 
desert  of  London  in  which  she  was  a  stranger,  the 
heart  of  the  poor  girl  filled  with  gratitude  towards 
God,  and  she  breathed  rather  than  uttered  a  prayer, 
that  He  would  befriend  her,  and  guide  her  still,  as  He 
had  done  hitherto. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Evans,  looking  very  cheer* 


BUT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  9J 

fill  and  confidential,  was  sitting  by  her  side.  She  had 
a  little  straw  reticule  in  her  hand,  in  which  was  a 
clean  pocket  handkerchief,  carefully  enclosing  two 
letters;  but  she  did  not  tell  Jane  about  these  at  first. 
She  told  her  a  deal  of  domestic  chit-chat;  about  the 
journeyman  burning  himself  with  the  goose,  and  Philip, 
the  youngest  child,  having  broken  a  whole  half-dozen 
bottles  of  the  "new  original  revivifying  fluid,"  for 
wbjph  he  had  been  well  whipped;  and  then  she  mys- 
teriously peeped  into  her  reticule,  and  selected  one  of 
the  twojetififs,  which  she  laughingly  held  up  to  Jane's 
facev  "Here  it  is,  child,"  said  she;  "  Nottingham  post- 
mark and  all!" 

Jane  opened  it:  it  was  from  Mrs.  Griffiths,  and  was 
as  follows: — 

"I  haven't  felt  right  dear  Jane  never  since  i  received  vours  of  the 
20th  and  if  i  had  n't  have  been  so  bad  at  the  pen  should  Have 
answered  before  now.  i  have  n't  had  my  right  sleep  since  Yours 
came,  the  strange  hand  writing  put  me  out  so,  for  says  i  she  Must 
be  bad  indeed  not  to  write,  and  it  such  a  thing  for  young  Women  to 
get  into  such  bad  familys.  there  is  law  on  your  side  however  Jane 
and  your  missis  must  giv  you  a  letter  to  say  how  much  is  your  due. 
you  must  look  after  your  rights  which  is  no  more  than  your  bounden 
duty,  i  am  glad,  and  thank  the  Lord  on  that  account  that  you  have 
found  friends  as  all  must  be  who  know  you  as  i  do.  i  have  had  a 
letter  from  mark  which  makes  mention  of  you.  he  is  doing  very 
well  in  Sheffield  and  wishes  me  to  go  there  too,  but  at  my  age  all 
removes  are  troubles,  i  look  forward  only  to  one  remove  and  that 
will  be  to  my  last  home.  Mark  as  he  promised  sent  the  .50  shillings 
to  rachel  in  hopes  that  you  could  do  the  same,  which  i  am  sorry  to 
say  she  was  undeserving  of.  she  has  not  don  right  and  that  wil 
trouble  you  to  here,  and  at  this  time  when  your  health  Is  week 
should  be  kept  from  you  only  if  she  is  in  London  you  may  have  a 
chanse  of  doing  her  good  perhaps  saving  her  from  destruction,  which 
may  the  Lord  grant.  Mima  higgins  set  of  to  london  with  a  officer 
soon  after  you  was  gone,  she  was  a  bad  piece  of  goods  and  as  the 
naybours  said  better  lost  than  found  and  i  had  hopes  when  she  was 
gone  rachel  would  take  to  good  wais.  however  when  she  got  marks 
money  instead  of  waiting  to  see  if  more  would  come,  or  tr\  ing  to  save 
some  herself  what  doos  she  do  but  sitt  of.  where  she  is  g'on  noboddy 
knows  only  that  She  left  a  letter  to  her  father  lo  say  she  was  gon  for 
good  and  noboddy  need  trubhle  themselves  about  herassh"  had  plenty 
of  freinds  wno  would  not  let  her  want,  if  she  is  in  lonito,i  you  most 
likely  may  see  her  and  can  giv  her  good  advise  of  which  she  stands  in 


92  OUT  OF  PLACE  —  NOT  THE  CHAPTER, 

need,  your  father  goes  on  but  poorly,  step-motlier  nothing  to  boa»t 
of.  old  Greasely  is  dead  and  t lie  old  lady  has  offered  to  take  letty  to 
Jive  with  her :  but  letty  can't  part  with  sally  so  she  still  stops  at  home 
which  is  a  pitty  for  her  tho'  i  must  say  verry  good  of  her,  foi  without 
her  sally  who  is  weekly  would  have  no  freind  in  this  world,  rny  letter 
is  a  malankolly  one  and  wil  do  you  no  good  by  way  of  news,  nothing 
is  heard  of  John,  my  love  to  you  jane,  and  hoping  you  wil  write  again 
and  lett  me  here  good  News  of  you  i  commend  you  to  the  keeping  of 
the  good  shepperd  and  am  your  lovin  true  freind 

"Sarah  Griffiths." 
"  P.S. — Little  annie  manewarring  was  Berried  last  Sunday,  having 
died  of  croop.  one  of  the  others  has  hadd  hooping  cof  Mr.  mane- 
werring  preached  the  funeral  sermon  on  the  souls  of  littel  children 
which  left  not  a  Dry  eye  in  the  chappell.  don't  forgit  to  Wright  to 
your  late  Missis  about  your  wagges,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  Well,  I  would  not  have  brought  you  that  letter,  if 
I'd  thought  you'll  have  taken  on  in  this  way,"  said  Mrs. 
Evans,  as  Jane,  weak  as  her  illness  had  left  her,  dis- 
tressed by  the  contents  of  the  letter,  laid  her  face 
towards  the  pillow,  and  cried.  Mrs.  Evans  was  vexed 
that  Jane  told  her  not  one  word  of  w  hat  was  in  the 
letter,  and  yet  kept  crying1  so;  she  took,  therefore,  the 
second  letter  from  her  reticule,  saying,  "And  I'm  afraid 
this  letter  won't  do  you  no  good  neither."  Jane  looked 
at  it  eagerly;  it  was  her  own  letter  to  John,  in  Bristol, 
inscribed  on  the  outside  "  Not  to  be  found,"  and  now 
returned  to  the  writer. 

"  Letter-writing  never  does  no  good,"  said  Mrs. 
Evans,  "and  so  I've  always  said;  and  look  now,  you'd 
better  never  have  written  a  line,  than  take  on  in  this  way; 
it  will  make  your  poor  dear  head  as  bad  as  ever.  I'm 
no  friend  to  so  much  letter-writing,"  continued  she, 
"  and  so  I  told  my  son  when  he  left  me.  '  Never  write, 
Jemmy,'  says  I  to  him;  'let's  see  you  when  you  come 
back;  but  letters  do  no  sort  of  good.'  He's  been  in 
France,  Spain,  and  all  sorts  of  services;  and  every  now 
and  then  he  comes  walking  in  with  his  handsome  merry 
face,  and  a  good  suit  of  clothes  on  his  back;  and  is  not 
that  better  than  plaguing  his  friends  with  letters  when- 
ever he's  out  of  place,  or  has  got  a  bad  master  ?    He'U 


B  JT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  93 

oe  uming  some  of  these  days,  for  I  have  not  set  eyes 
on  him  this  eighteen  months;  but  I  never  trouble 
myself  about  him;  he'll  turn  up,  that  I  know,  some  day 
or  other.  Jemmy  was  wild  as  a  lad,"  continued  Mrs. 
Evans;  "  I  thought  we  should  have  had  a  world  of 
trouble  with  him.  I  wasjust  married  to  Evans  when  he 
was  sixteen.  Bless  you!  why,  there  wasn't  a  day  that 
he  was  not  getting  into  trouble  of  one  sort  or  another! 
'Jemmy,'  at  last  says  I  to  him,  when  I  was  provoked 
beyond  bearing, '  get  out  of  your  step-father's  house,  for 
you  bare  no  right  to  bring  disgrace  on  it,  and  never  let 
me  i  (_•'.-  ;,  ur  !Vee  again.'  Well,  he  took  meat  my  word, 
whidh  was  more  than  I  meant,  and  for  four  years  I 
never  set  eyes  on  him.  I  never  told  anybody  what  I 
suffered,  though;  when  incomes,  one  day, a  smart  young 
fellow,  of  twenty,  and  says  he,  '  Is  Mr.  Evan;  at  home, 
to  measure  mc  for  a  new  suit  of  clothes  ?'  Lord!  would 
you  believe  it?  that  was  my  Jemmy!  He  had  been  in 
America  and  back,  and  got  heaps  of  money!  I  never 
was  so  pleased  in  all  my  life;  and  since  then  he's  been 
in  France,  and  Heaven  knows  where,  and  is  now  as 
steady  a  man  as  any  in  England !  " 

Poor  Jane!  she  listened  to  what  her  friend  related, 
and  took  hope  from  it;  for,  after  all,  her  own  sister 
might  turn  out  well  too.  She  had  only,  perhaps,  taken 
her  fate  into  her  own  hands  for  her  good,  as  Mrs. 
Evans's  son  had  done.  Rachel  was  not  bad  at  heart; 
and,  was  not  her  home  enough  to  drive  her  away  from  it? 
and,  besides  this,  Mrs.  Griffiths  had  always  been  pre- 
udiced  against  her.  Yes,  there  was  room  fur  hope,  and 
hope  she  would,  spite  of  all  things.  But  then,  John ! 
where  was  he  ?  But  there  was  no  need  to  be  anxious 
about  John;  he  was  a  youth  whose  talents  would  raise 
him  above  any  misfortune.  She  knew  very  little  about 
Homer,  and  Milton,  and  Shakspeare;  but,  someway 
or  other,  she  had  made  herself  sure  of  John's  being  a 


94  OUT  OF  PLACE — NOT  THE  CHAPTER, 

great  and  famous  poet;  so  she  dismissed  fear  about  him. 
Still  it  was  mortifying1  to  havt  her  letter  returned,  more 
especially  as  he  now  would  not  know  that  he  war  to 
write  to  her  at  Mrs.  Evans's.  Truly,  she  had  had  no 
pleasure  nor  comfort  either  from  these  letters,  and  she 
began  to  think,  with  the  tailor's  wife,  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  there  were  no  letters  in  the  world. 

A  day  or  two  after  this  the  convalescent  patients 
were  informed  that  two  Quaker  ladies,  who,  like  Mrs. 
Fry,  went  about  doing  good,  and  visiting  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  affliction,  would  pay  what  they  called  a 
"religious  visit"  to  the  occupiers  of  the  convalescent 
ward.  Such  of  the  patients  as  were  too  ill  to  sit  up  had 
their  beds  drawn  near  together;  and  others,  propped 
in  chairs,  with  pillows  and  cushions,  sate,  clean  and 
neat,  awaiting,  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  intended  visit. 
There  were  thirty  patients;  old  wrinkled  and  haggard 
women,  pale  and  thin  from  sickness,  and  poverty,  and 
suffering,  as  well  as  from  age;  and  young  ones,  with 
their  pale  cheeks  and  hollow  eyes,  telling  tales  of  suf- 
fering too— suffering  of  mind  as  well  as  body.  There 
sate  they  in  that  large  clean  ward,  the  spring  sunshine 
streaming  in  at  the  windows,  and  among  them  our  young 
friend  Jane  Ford.  Beside  Jane  sate  a  little,  old,  wrinkled 
Welsh  woman,  who,  even  in  her  first  stage  of  recovery, 
had  lain  in  bed  with  her  everlasting  knitting  in  her 
hands;  there  sate  she,  propped  up  by  a  pillow,  looking 
weakly  about  her,  and  knitting  still. 

Punctually  at  eleven  o'clock  the  two  Quaker  ladies 
made  their  appearance,  ushered  in  by  the  physician,  and 
attended  by  the  head  nurse.  The  expression  of  their 
countenances  was  that  of  mild  benevolence;  their  dress 
was  the  rigid  costume  of  their  people — gowns  of  a  dark 
grave  colour,  and  of  a  soft  silken  texture;  the  one  wore 
a  large  white  silk  shawl;  the  other  one,  equally  large 
and  rich,  of  a  dull  drab  colour;  the  elder  wore  the  little, 


BUT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  95 

close,  black,  bonnet — the  younger  and  stouter  of  the 
two  carried  hers  in  her  well-gloved  hand,  having  un- 
covered the  well-proportioned  head,  of  which  the  clear 
and  closely  fitting  muslin  cap  showed  the  fair  outline. 

There  was  something  so  quietly  dignified,  so  self- 
possessed,  in  the  style  and  carriage  of  the  two  strangers, 
that  gave  them  that  air  of  awarded  rather  than  assumed 
superiority,  which  is  generally  considered  the  preroga- 
tive of  high  birth;  yet  the  poor  inmates  in  the  conva- 
lesce-rtt  ward^if  they  felt  awed  one  moment  by  their 
air  of  "dignity,  found  their  hearts  warmed  the  next, 
by  tlie  expression  of  sympathetic  benevolence  which 
streamed,  as  it  were,  from  the  countenances  of  both, 
as  if  it  h*d  been  the  halo  of  a  saint. 

Jane  Ford  had  seen  the  Quakers  often;  she  had  seen 
the  closely  buttoned-up  and  closely-shorn  men  in  their 
shops;  she  had  seen  the  women  walking  about  the 
streets  in  their  peculiar  habiliments,  and  to  her  they 
were  nothing  more  than  a  very  odd  people,  who  thought 
it  a  part  of  religion  to  dress  unlike  their  neighbours. 
But,  weak  and  ill  as  she  now  was,  and  friendless  and 
poor,  her  heart  warmed  within  her  at  the  loveliness  of 
Christian  kindness,  as  it  seemed  to  beam  forth  upon 
her  from  their  two  countenances;  and  she  felt  as  if, 
like  Mary  Magdalene,  she  could  almost  have  knelt 
down  to  kiss  the  hem  of  their  garments. 

The  ladies  took  their  seats,  without  three  words 
beins-  spoken;  the  old  Welsh  woman  went  on  with  her 
knittinsr,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  them.  "Canst 
thou  not,  my  friend,"  said  the  elder  lady,  "lay  aside 
thy  knitting  for  a  short  time,  that  thy  mind  may  centre 
down  into  a  state  of  quiet?"  The  poor  old  woman, 
feeling  as  if  reproved,  laid  down  her  work  on  the  nearest 
bed,  and  felt  uncomfortable;  for  that  very  pause  from 
an  accustomed  habit  unhinged  her  mind.  All  sunk 
into  profound  silence;  the  patients  wondered  when  the 


96  OCT  OF  PLACE — NOT  THE  CHAPTEB, 

ladies  would  speak;  and  instead,  as  they  had  said,  of 
"  their  minds  centreing  down  into  quiet,"  this  unwonted 
silence,  this  attempted,  but  vainly  attempted,  pause 
from  thought,  set  every  mind  wandering.  Some  thought 
how  odd  it  was;  others  examined  the  strangers'  dress; 
others  wondered  when  ever  they  would  beg-in  to  speak; 
while  the  poor  old  Welsh  woman,  to  whom  knitting 
was  second  nature,  felt  as  if  she  had  become  all  hands, 
and  could  think  of  nothing  but  how  uncomfortable  it 
was  to  be  without  her  knitting.  At  length  the  younger 
lady  spoke.  She  addressed  her  hearers,  poor  and  mean 
as  they  were,  as  "sisters  and  friends;"  she  spoke  of 
affliction,  and  sickness,  and  poverty,  as  if  she  herself 
had  passed  through  them  all,  and  understood  them  by 
the  deepest  experience;  she  spoke  of  the  afflicted  as 
those  the  Heavenly  Father  loved;  she  told  of  the  sick 
whom  Christ  healed;  of  the  poor  whom  he  dwelt  among 
and  loved;  that  he  himself  was  poor;  that  his  chosen 
friends  were  poor;  and  that,  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
the  poor  would  be  richer  than  the  princes  of  the  earth. 
Oh,  what  a  privilege  it  seemed  to  be  sick,  and  poor, 
and  afflicted!  There  was  not  one  of  those  poor  hearers 
who  did  not  feel  as  if  she  could  bless  God  for  these 
mercies,  so  much  had  the  persuasive  eloquence  of  the 
meek  Quakeress  affected  them.  All  wept;  and  then 
she  ceased  to  speak.  Again  a  deep  silence,  interrupted 
only  by  low  sobs,  fell  on  the  assembly. 

The  effect  of  the  first  speaker's  words  was  passing 
away,  and  the  greater  part  were  beginning  to  wonder 
what  would  come  next,  when  the  elder  lady  began  to 
speak.  She  addressed,  she  said,  "individual  states." 
She  dealt  in  common-places  more  than  her  predecessor; 
but  her  mode  of  address  had  the  deepest  effect  upon 
three  or  four  of  her  hearers,  to  whom  her  supposed 
cases  applied.  She  addressed  those  who  had  afflictions 
in  their  own  families;  who  saw  those  near  and  dear  to 


BUT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  97 

them  going  wrong;  who  wished  to  go  right,  hut  whom 
circumstances,  stronger  than  their  own  wills,  led  wron°\ 
She  spoke  of  those  who  were  made  pooi  through  the 
unrighteous  dealings  of  others;  who  had  no  home  tc 
which  to  flee— no  counsellor  with  whom  to  advise;  she 
said  she  was  sent  to  preach  glad  tidinss  to  such  as 
these— to  tell  them  that  a  wa  v  would  be  opened  for  them 
as  it  were  in  the  midst  of 'the  sea;   that  a  friend  and 
Helper  was  at  hand  when  he  was  least  thought  of;  that 
a  doot-«as  standing  open  to  receive  them,  if  thev  had 
but  laithT^faith  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed.  There  was 
something  in  all  this  that  went  to  the  very  bottom  of 
Janes  soul.  "  Lord,  I  believe  !  help  thou  my  unbelief '" 
was   the  breathing   of  her   heart.     She  thought  the 
Quakeress  was  sent  there  on  purpose  to  preach  to  her 
An  overpowering  emotion  of  gratitude  and  hope  came 
over  her,  and  she  wept  plenteous  tears. 

After  this,  the  first  speaker  knelt  down  in  fervent 
prayer.     A  spirit  of  devotion,  like  the  incense  of  the 
swinging  censer,  seemed  to  float  above  and   around 
and  to  lift  every  heart  as  if  from  earth  to  heaven.  The 
ady  rose  from  her  knees;  again  all  sank  into  silence: 
the  spirit  of  that  fervour  began  to  abate,  like  the  in- 
cense  which  has  ascended  and  mixed  itself  with  common 
air.      I  he  two  Quakeresses  shook  hands,  and  made  a 
move,  not  to  depart,  but  to  intimate  that  the  hour  of 
worship  was  at  an  end.  The  elder  lady,  whose  address 
had  made  so  deep  an  impression  on  Jane  Ford,  had  not 
been  so  much  absorbed  by  her  mission  as  to  be  unobserv- 
ant of  its  effect;  and  now,  approaching  her,  she  began 
to  ask  kindly  of  her  illness  and  her  circumstances. 
Jane  did  not  tell   her  much,  but  the   Quakeress  was 
interested,  and  determined  to  be  the  fulfiller  of  her 
own  prophecy  of  good.   Money  was  given  to  the  head- 
nurse  to  be  distributed  among  the  poorer  patients; 
and  then,  bidding  all  a  friendly  farewell,  one  of  the 


98  OUT  OF  PLACE NOT  THE  CHAPTER, 

most  comfortable  surely,  if  not  the  most  elegant,  private 
carriages  in  London  bore  them  away:  the  poor  Welsh 
woman,  the  moment  their  backs  were  turned,  taking 
up  her  knitting,  and  "  centreing  down"  then,  tor  the 
first  time,  into  what  the  Quakeress  wished  for,  "  a  state 
of  quiet;"  the  rest  of  the  patients,  greater  part  of  them 
at  least,  losing  the  religious  influence  of  the  visit  in 
the  disappointment  at  not  being  so  much  noticed  as 
Jane  Ford,  whom  they  set  down  as  an  artful  girl,  who 
knew  very  well  what  she  was  about  when  she  shed  so 
many  tears. 

The  next  dav,  the  elder  Quaker  lady,  who  was 
named  Forster,"  came  alone  on  an  express  visit  to 
Jane  Ford.  She  sate  down  beside  her,  and  made  the 
poor  girl  relate  to  her  as  much  of  her  family  history  as 
she  chose  to  tell,  and  the  whole  of  her  London  expe- 
rience. "  My  husband,"  said  the  Quakeress,  "  will  do 
what  he  can  'for  thee  in  recovering  thy  wages.  I  am 
willing  also  to  receive  thee  into  my  service.  I  am 
p!ease°d  by  thy  appearance,  and  disposed  to  believe 
what  thou  savest.  1  can  offer  thee  a  situation  as  par- 
lour-maid: our  family  is  small,  orderly,  and  quiet :  the 
place  will  be  one  of  propriety  and  security.  If  thou 
behavest  we'll,  thou  mayest  remain  with  us  for  years : 
our  present  servants  have  all  lived  with  us  long,  one  of 
them  even  a  quarter  of  a  century:  a  long  servitude 
becomes  with  us  a  family  alliance.  As  an  inducement 
to  this,  on  every  fifth  year  we  give  an  increase  of 
wa°-es.     Art  thou  willing  to  take  our  service?" 

"Willing!"  exclaimed  Jane,  to  whom  Mrs.  Forster 
seemed  like  an  amrel  descended  from  heaven,  "oh, 
ma'am,  I  am  thankful.  I  never  shall  enough  return 
your  favours." 

The  Quakeress  smiled  faintly,  and  then  began  to 
inquire  into  the  state  of  Jane's  finances.  As  to  money, 
the  poor  girl  had  nothing  but  the  keepsake  shilling 


BUT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  99 

given  her_  by  Samuel  Mainwaring;  she  was  fifteen 
shillings  in  debt  to  Mrs.  Evans;  she  had  not  a  better 
gown  now  for  Sundays;  her  working  clothes  were 
comparatively  all  worn  out;  she  had  not  a  pair  of 
6hoes  to  her  feet  that  did  not  let  in  the  water:  she  had 
indeed  miserably  gone  down  in  the  world  since  she 
left  Mrs.  Mainwaring's.  She  did  not  confess  exactly 
how  wretchedly  off  she  was;  but  her  hesitation,  and 
the  crimson  that  mounted  to  her  brow,  as  Mrs.  Forster 
questioned  rj,er  of  these  things,  explained  to  that  con- 
siderate lady  all  that  Jane  forbore  to  tell. 

"  '!>..  pottiitis  we  shall  give  thee  for  the  first  year," 
said'.Mrs.  Forster;  "guineas  the  second.  If  thou  re- 
main with  us  over  five  years,  as  I  said,  thou  wilt  find 
thy  advantage  in  it.  1  will  advance  thee  one  quar- 
ter's wages  for  thy  present  needs:  if  thou  require  more, 
speak  freely:   I  am  disposed  to  be  thy  friend." 

Again  Jane  thought  of  angels  coming  down  from 
heaven,  and  she  had  not  words  to  express  her  grati- 
tude. 

Mrs.  Evans  came  in  the  next  day,  with  a  happy 
countenance:  Jane  supposed  she  had  heard  of  hei 
good  fortune,  and  was  come  to  congratulate  her;  but 
no,  Mrs.  Evans  had  come  with  good  luck  of  her  own. 

"  A  riddle,  a  riddle,  a  riddle  ma-ree, 
So  now  read  a  riddle,  fair  maiden,  to  me!" 

said  she:  "  Guess  what  old  flame  of  yours  has  turned 
up  within  the  last  four-and-twenty  hours!" 

Jane  thought  of  nobody  but  M-rk  Griffiths:  nor 
face  became  crimson,  and  her  heart  beat  much  quicker; 
but  she  would  not  have  mentioned  his  name  for  any- 
thing: so  she  said,  as  calmly  as  she  could,  "  Oh  dear! 
how  can   I  tell?'*' 

"  Oh,  you  sly  thing!"  said  the  tailor's  wife;  "  hov» 
should  you  know,  indeed!  come,  guess  now!" 


(00  OUT  OF  PLACE NOT  THE  CHAPTER. 

«  Oh  dear,  Mrs.  Evans,"  said  Jane,  "  I  cai  't  guess; 
I  know  of  no  old  flame." 
"  Young  Jemmy  loved  me  weel,  and  he  asked  me  for  his  bride," 

half  sung  Mrs.  Evans,  in  a  low  voice,  laying  particular 
emphasis  on  the  name. 

"  Why!  did  I  ever  know  your  Jemmy  ?"  asked  Jane, 
in  perfect  simplicity,  understanding  at  once  that  her 
friend  meant  her  son. 

«  Now,  that's  a  good  one  !"  said  Mrs.  Evans.  "  Was 
it  not  odd,  now,  that  Jemmy  Kemp  should  live  with  you 
at  Captain  Tremaine's,  at  Cheltenham  ?  I  had  always 
a  liking  to  you,  Jane,"  said  she,  "  from  the  first  moment 
I  set  eyes  on  you,  but  I  little  thought  all  the  while, 
vou  puss,  that  you'd  stolen  Jemmy's  heart." 

"  James !  James  Kemp !  "  exclaimed  Jane,  recalling, 
not  without  pleasure,  the  '  very  nice  young  man'  who 
was  Mr.  Tremaine's  footman,  in  Cheltenham;  "  and  so 
James  is  your  son!" 

"And  isn't  he  a  handsome  young  fellow.'  asked 
Mrs.  Evans;  "  as  handsome  a  young  fellow  as  ever  trod 
in  shoe-leather!" 

Jane  could  not  tell  how  it  was,  but  she  was  more 
sorry  than  pleased,  as  Mrs.  Evans  went  on  to  tell  her 
how  Jemmv,  "  for  sure  and  certain,  was  very  fond  ot 
her;"  how'  he  had  told  her  so  himself.  "  We  were 
laughing,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  "  about  love  and  such  like, 
and  says  Jemmv, '  No,  I  never  lost  my  heart  but  once, 
and  that  was  to  "a  fellow-servant— a  mighty  pretty  girl, 
who  was  a  fellow-servant  of  mine  at  Cheltenham,  when 
I  lived  with  Captain  Tremaine.'  Lord  !  how  I  laughed^ 
'  And  I  see  this  mighty  pretty  girl,'  said  I, '  every  week;' 
and  then  I  told  him  all  the  trouble  you'd  had;  and  wasn  t 
he  a  bit  sorry  ?     I  guess  he  was ! " 

Jane  made  Mrs.  Evans  at  length  listen  to  her  new 
prospects,  and  how  happy  she  knew  she  should  be  in  the 
family  of  this  good  Quakeress.     Mrs.  Evans  shook  her 


BUT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  101 

Lead,  and  said  it  might  do  for  a  while.  Jane  would  get 
good  wages  there,  and  good  living,  and  regular  hours, 
and  but  little  to  do;  she  would  soon  look  quite  fat,  and 
handsome,  for  Quakers'  servants  and  Quakers'  horses 
were  proverbs  in  that  way;  but  she  didn't  believe  Jane 
would  stop  there  very  long.  She  said  she  was  sure 
she  should  not,  if  she  were  a  servant — it  would  be  "  so 
terrible  quiet." 

To  Jane  that  seemed  at  present  a  recommendation. 
Aria  then  if*was  arranged  how  the  fifty  shillings  should 
be  laid  j)ut  in  improving  her  wardrobe,  the  good- 
natured  woman  persisting  that  the  fifteen  shillings  due 
to  iter  could  be  paid  any  time;  nay,  it  was  no  great 
matter  if  it  were  never  paid  at  all,  so  willing  would  she 
be  to  make  a  free  gift  to  any  one  that  Jemmy  was  fond 
of.  "And  now,  in  the  meantime,"  said  she,  "you  must 
get  well  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  come  and  spend  two 
or  three  days  with  me,  and  we'll  go  to  the  play  together, 
Jemmy  ant)  all,  before  you  go  to  your  new  service." 

In  a  fortnight's  time  Jane  had  left  the  hospital,  and 
had  so  judiciously  laid  out  the  fifty  shillings  advanced 
to  her  by  Mrs.  Forster,  as  to  have,  to  all  appearance, 
a  sufficient  wardrobe — a  very  decent  every-day  dress, 
and  a  better  gown  for  Sundays;  and  all,  to  her  great 
comfort,  were  again  contained  in  a  respectable  looking 
trunk,  which,  however,  was  only  lent  to  her  by  Mrs. 
Evans.  ■ 

James  Kemp,  or  Jemmy,  as  his  mother  called  him, 
had  been  unfortunately  carried  off  by  his  master  to 
Brighton,  the  day  after  his  re-appearance  at  his  step- 
father's; and  now  it  was  his  mother's  great  fear  that  he 
would  not  come  back  again  before  that  unlucky  Tuesday 
which  was  to  consign  Jane  to  her  new  place.  Jane,  in 
her  secret  mind,  however,  hoped  he  would  not,  for — ■ 
and  let  her  not  be  blamed  for  this  confession — since 
his  mother  had  said  so  much  about  his  liking  her,  Jane 

K<2 


102      OUT  OF  PLACE  —  NOT  THE  CHAPTER, 

had  thought  more  about  Mark  Griffiths  than  she  had 
ever  thought  about  him  in  her  life  before.  And  did  not 
she  now  wear  a  little  black  cord  round  her  neck,  which 
she  was  particularly  careful  Mrs.  Evans  should  never 
gee?  and  was  not  Mark  Griffiths's  grandmother's  ring 
hung  to  that  cord  ?  A  little  sentimentality  this;  but  not 
unnatural,  even  to  a  servant  girl,  who  would  bang  a 
little  amulet  near  her  heart,  to  keep  warm  there  the 
memory  of  a  person  she  could  love.  It  is  true  that 
Mark  had  not  directly  made  any  declaration  of  love; 
but  Mrs.  Evans  had  put  the  idea  of  a  sweetheart  into 
her  head,  and  this  was  the  consequence  of  it.  She 
hoped,  therefore,  that  he  would  not  come;  it  was 
pleasant  enough  to  think  of  him  as  the  nice  friendly 
fellow  servant^  "  who  had  a  bit  of  a  liking  for  her;"  but 
it  was  quite  another  thing  if  he  were  to  declare  love  to 
her!  What  could  she  do  ?  And  wouldn't  Mrs.  Evans 
be  mortally  offended  if  she  looked  only  the  least  in  the 
world  cold  on  him?  To  be  sure  she  would;  for  Jemmy 
was  the  very  apple  of  her  eye,  and  not  to  love  him 
would  certainly  be  to  offend  her. 

But  it  now  was  Tuesday  morning,  and  Jemmy  was 
not  come;  and  now  it  was  afternoon,  and  Mrs.  Evans, 
who,  nobody  could  exactly  tell  why,  was  in  rather  an 
ill  temper,  was  washing  up  the  dinner  things,  while 
Jane  was  quilling  a  border  on  a  cap. 

"  I  must  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  rear- 
ing up  the  plates  she  had  just  been  washing.in  the  plate- 
rack,  "  and  that's  a  bit  of  good  advice  to  you  •.  don't  you 
go  and  run  vourself  into  any  mess  you  can't  get  well 
out  of." 

"  How  ?"  inquired  Jane,  not  at  all  understanding  her. 

"  Why,  haven'tyou  said,"  returned  Mrs.  Evans,  "that 
your  new  master  is  to  write  to  Mrs.  Tremaine  about 
your  wages?  That's  all  right;  but  I  advise  you  to  say 
nothing  about  the  time-piece;  remember,  I  don't  want 


BUT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  103 

yoa  to  make  any  confessions  to  me;  I'm  not  so  precise 
as  some  folks;  I  see  nothing  wrong  in  what  you  did; 
but  if  you'll  be  advised  by  me,  put  nothing  into  a 
Quaker's  hands  that  you're  not  quite  sure  you  can 
account  for.     Say  nothing  about  the  time-piece!" 

"  Well  now,  that  is  unkind,"  said  Jane,  laying  down 
her  work,  and  really  wounded,  not  only  by  her  friend's 
incredulity,  but  by  her  want  of  morality;  "that  is  very 
unkind  of  you,  Mrs.  Evans!  If  you  thought  what  I 
said,  about  that  time-piece,"  continued  she,  "  was  not 
true,  .you  ought  not  to  have  taken  so  much  notice  of 
me;  pro.perjyyou  couldn't  have  thought  well  of  me.  I 
should  have  heen  a  liar  and  a  thief,  Mrs.  Evans,  if  I'd 
done  so;  and  if  you  thought  me  such,  you  ought  to 
have  turned  your  back  on  me.  I  must  say,"  added 
she,  "that  I  am  very  much  hurt!" 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Evans,  "just  as  you  please; 
"  but  there  was  nothing  so  very  wrong  if  you  had 
taken  the  time-piece.  What  else  were  you  ever  likely 
to  get  ?  I  must  say,"  continued  Mrs.  Evans, "  I  never 
did  quite  believe  it!" 

"  I  wonder  whatever  I've  done,  Mrs.  Evans,"  said 
Jane,  looking  offended,  and  getting  up  from  her  chair, 
"  to  make  you  think  so  of  me.  I  should  have  hated 
myself  to  have  taken  the  time-piece,  or  anything  else. 
I  have  always  been  brought  up  to  be  honest,  Mrs. 
Evans,  and  I  would  have  sold  my  clothes  rather  than 
have  made  a  thief  of  myself;  and  I  can't  think  why  it 
should  be  at  all  odder  that  Mrs.  Tremaine  gave  me  the 
time-piece  than  that  she  gave  you  all  those  clothes !" 

Mrs.  Evans  made  no  answer,  for  the  door  at  that 
moment  opened,  and  in  walked  James  Kemp.  Jane 
felt  so  displeased  with  the  mother,  that  she  could  not 
be  civil  to  the  son,  so  she  only  said  "  Good  day,  Mr. 
James;"  and,  taking  her  work  in  her  hand,  went  into 
her  chamber,  where  she  sate  wishing  herself  out  of  tho 
house,  till  Mrs.  Evans  summoned  her  to  tea. 


104        OUT  OF  PLACE NOT  THE  CHAPTER, 

Mrs.  Evans  was  again  in  the  best  humour  in  th* 
world — laughed  at  what  she  called  "Jane's  black  looks," 
and  told  her  son  what  had  put  her  so  out  of  temper. 
James  took  her  part  as  strenuously  as  possible,  and,  half 
in  joke  half  in  earnest,  scolded  his  mother.  James 
really  was  handsome;  and  there  was  something  so 
friendly  and  open-hearted  in  his  manner,  and  Mrs.  Evans 
seemed  so  overflowing  again  with  kindness  and  good 
temper,  that  Jane  could  not  help  the  black  cloud  clear- 
ing away  both  from  her  heart  and  her  brow. 

After  tea  Mrs.  Evans  said  she  had  to  call  on  a  friend, 
but  she  should  be  back  long  before  Jane  need  go  to  the 
Tottenham  omnibus;  and,  giving  a  wink  to  her  son,  she 
went  out.  Jane  saw  the  wink,  and  it  vexed  her  again, 
for  this  going  out  was  only  a  scheme  of  hers,  perhaps 
a  plot  between  the  two,  that  James  and  she  should  be 
left  together.    Suppose  he  should  be»in  to  talk  of  lovef 

"  And  now,"  said  James,  leaning  his  arm  on  the  table, 
and  looking  her  directly  in  the  face,  "  I  must  tell  you 
something:  I  should  have  followed  you  to  Tottenham 
to  tell  you,  if  1  had  not  found  you  here." 

"  Oh  dear!  it's  coming  now,"  thought  Jane;  "  what- 
ever am  I  to  say?" 

"  I  took  a  note  this  morning,"  said  he, "  for  my  master 
to  a  barrister,  who  was  then  employed  in  an  Old  Bailey 
case."  Jane  breathed  freely  at  once.  "  He  was  on  his 
legs,"  continued  James,  "  as  I  entered  the  court,  so  I 
stood  to  wail  till  he  had  done,  because  I  had  to  take 
back  an  answer;  and  what  trial  do  you  think  was  going 
on?" 

Jane  could  not  tell. 

"  Why,  that  fellow,  Norris,"  said  he,  "  that  set-up 
conceited,  impudent  jackanapes  of  a  N'orris!  He  was 
tried  for  having  robbed  his  master  of  a  handsome  dress- 
ing case,  worJj  seventy  guineas!" 

"  Why,  sure!"  exclaimed  Jane. 

•'  And  the  fellow,"  continued  James. "  had  got  counsel 


BUT  THE  MAID-SERVANT.  105 

to  plead  for  him,  as  if  he'd  been  the  most  honourable  of 
gentlemerr.  My  hands  have  itched,"  said  James, "  many 
a  time  to  give  that  fellow  a  drubbing;  and  wasn't  1 
pleased  to  see  him  standing  there,  like  a  dog  with 
a  burnt  tail!"  and  James  rubbed  his  hands  in  very 
ecstasy. 

"  Well,  and  what  was  done  to  him  ?"  asked  Jane. 

"  He  was  sentenced  to  transportation,"  returned  he. 
"  I  couldn't  leave  the  court  till  I  heard  that.  I  always 
hated  the  fellow  from  the  first  day  I  set  eyes  on  him; 
not  that  he  "ever  did  anything  to  me,  but  I  knew  he'd 
behavedJlljto.you,  and  that  was  enough  for  me." 

Well,  it  really  was  very  civil  and  nice  of  James  feel- 
ing that  sort  of  regard  for  her,  Jane  thought;  and  when 
Mrs.  Evans  returned,  only  half  an  hour  before  it  was 
time  for  her  to  get  ready,  she  felt  almost  sorry.  Mrs. 
Evans  took  half  a  bottle  of  wine  out  of  a  cupboard, 
and  said  they  must  all  three  drink  a  glass  before  part- 
ing, to  wish  Jane  luck  in  her  new  place;  and,  when  this 
was  drunk,  she  said,  as  she  felt  rather  tired,  perhaps 
Jemmy  would  walk  with  her  to  the  omnibus  instead  of 
her.  Jane  felt  again  that  this  was  another  scheme  to 
keep  them  together  a  little  longer;  but  she  did  not  feel 
as  vexed  as  she  had  done  before,  nor  did  she  even 
refuse  to  take  James's  arm  as  they  walked  together  to 
the  omnibus. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    CHAPTER    OF    STILL    LIFE. 

At  ten  o'clock  precisely  the  family  of  Joshua  Forster, 
as  was  their  custom,  were  assembled  in  the  dining* 
room  to  hear  the  evening  chapters  read — the  Quaker 
mode  of  household  worship.     In  that  large,  well-fur- 


106  A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LI**,. 

nished,    well-carpeted,  well-curtained,  but   singularly 
grave-looking  room,  were  assembled  seven  persons. 

At  a  small  table, on  which  stood  a  remarkably  hand- 
some lamp,  and  a  large  open  Bible,  sate  Joshua  For- 
ster  himself.  Apparently  he  must  be  sixty  years  of  age, 
a  large-built,  healthy-complexioned  man,  with  a  low  but 
broad  bald  forehead,  and  a  quiet  cast  of  countenance, 
as  if  at  peace  with  all  mankind,  and,  above  all,  at  peace 
with  himself;  as  if,  also,  the  world  and  its  tumults  and 
passions  had  never  come  near  him.  Such  indeed  was 
the  family  countenance  of  the  Forsters.  Their  lives,  like 
those  of  their  people,  had  been  ever  calm  and  untrou- 
bled; excited  by  no  passions,  influenced  only  by  senti- 
ments, and  those  of  a  domestic  and  amiable  character, 
the  world  had  always  gone  well  with  them,  and,  though 
they  were  not  of  it,  had  always  smiled  upon  them. 
They  sympathized  with  the  oppressed,  with  the  poor 
and  tlte  ignorant;  they  sympathized  also  with  the  weak 
and  the  wicked,  not  from  experience  in  any  of  their 
peculiar  trials  and  sufferings,  but  from  a  broad  senti- 
ment of  universal  henevolence.  On  the  other  side  the 
table,  in  a  large  easy  chair,  sate  Susanna  Forster,  the 
good  Quakeress  whom  we  saw  before  in  the  hospital 
ward.  Their  two  daughters,  their  only  children,  some- 
where of  an  age  between  twenty  and  thirty,  sate  toge- 
ther on  a  small  sofa,  demure  and  still,  like  two  doves, 
side  by  side,  in  pale  lead-coloured  silk  dresses,  tight 
fitting  to  the  bust,  and  unorna merited,  yet  with  ample 
flowing  skirts,  which  fell  gracefully  about  their  small, 
beautiful  feet.  They  wore  clear  plain  muslin  caps,  if 
not  as  close  fitting  as  their  mother's  were,  as  precise 
looking;  clear  muslin  collars,  cuff's,  and  aprons,  they 
wore  also,  to  match  the  cap,  uuembroidered  and  un- 
trimmed,  either  by  lace  or  ribbon.  They  looked  like 
sisters  of  some  Catholic  order — but  how  shocked  would 
they  have  been  at  the  idea! — of  which  the  principal  vow 


A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE.  107 

<ras  to  make  purity  of  exterior  a  type  of  the  purity 
within. 

On  a  row  of  chairs  on  the  other  side  of  the  room  sate 
the  domestics.  Joseph,  the  combined  gardener  and 
groom,  a  man  almost  as  grave-looking  as  his  employers, 
having  lived  five-and-twenty  years  in  their  service. 
He  had  become  grave  and  precise-looking,  but  by 
nature  he  was  a  merry  man;  he  could  fiddle  and  he 
could  sing — at.  least  he  could  do  so  five-and-twenty 
years,  ago.  Perhaps  he  had  forgotten  these  accom- 
plishments in  the  interval:  at  all  events,  nobody  had 
seen  bis  riddjfi-now  for  many  a  year,  and  he  only  sung 
when-  he  was  nailing  up  the  trees,  or  when  he  was  quite 
sure  the  family  was  out  of  hearing.  The  other  two 
domestics  were  an  aunt  and  niece,  the  cook  and  house- 
maid, two  fixtures  likewise  of  many  years'  standing1.  The 
elder,  as  became  her  office,  was  fat  and  ruddy-com- 
plexioned,  for  there  was  very  good  living  in  the  Friends' 
family;  the  other,  Ellen,  the  housemaid,  was  past  the 
bloom  of  life,  and  in  fact  nearly  as  old-looking  as  her 
aunt,  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  and  with  a  sour,  austere 
expression  of  countenance,  which  might  either  be 
caused  by  natural  disposition,  or  might  be  the  unhappy 
result  of  the  sad  disease  from  which  she  had  suffered 
so  much. 

These  seven  were  all  assembled  in  that  goodly 
dining-room,  and  Joshua  Forstcr  was  putting  on  his 
spectacles  to  read,  when  a  ringing  at  the  gate  caused 
the  family  worship  to  be  for  a  moment  suspended. 

"  If  it  is  the  new  servant?"  asked  Ellen,  rising 
instantly. 

"  She  can  come  in  with  the^?,"  replied  Mrs.  Forster. 

After  a  pause  of  three  or  four  minutes,  and  the 
setting  down  of  the  boxes  in  the  hall,  Jane  Ford,  hi 
her  bonnet  and  shawl,  modestly  followed  her  new 
fellow-servant  into  the  room,  somewhat  frightened  as 


108  A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE. 

the  solemn  family  assembly  turned  their  ejes  upon 
her,  as  if  for  instant  scrutiny. 

"  We  read  a  chapter  in  the  scriptures,  young  woman," 
said  Joshua  Forster,  the  moment  she  had  dropped  into 
the  first  vacant  chair  by  the  door;  "  it  is  our  family 
custom." 

She  was  taken  by  surprise;  there  was  something  so 
unlike  what  she  had  seen  before,  in  this  household 
meeting:  yet  it  recalled  the  evening  prayer  at  the 
Mainwarings;  and  thus,  instead  of  attending  to  the 
chapter  which  Joshua  Forster  read,  she  recalled,  as 
she  had  not  done  for  months,  that  preacher's  house- 
hold— the  exact  father,  the  conscientious,  duty-loving, 
and  severe  mother,  the  meek-spirited  affectionate 
children — and  her  heart  overflowed  with  love,  tears 
streamed  from  her  eyes,  and  good  Mrs.  Forster,  who 
was  quietly  observant  of  everything,  received  this  as  a 
token  that  Jane's  heart  was  "  susceptible  of  good 
things." 

Twelve  months  in  that  quiet  orderly  family,  in  which 
there  was  plenty  of  good  living,  and  very  little  to  ruffle 
her  temper,  so  long  as  she  fulfilled  her  clearly-defined 
and  by  no  means  difficult  duties,  found  Jane  wonder- 
fully improved  in  personal  appearance :  healthy,  alert, 
cheerful,  and  well-dressed  as  any  maid-servant  in  the 
whole  wide  suburbs  of  London.  Beyond  this,  she  was 
a  great  favourite  with  all  the  Forster  family,  who 
found  her,  on  her  side,  obliging  and  orderly,  quick  to 
learn,  and  unforgetting;  conducting  herself,  in  short,  as 
if  her  duties  were  her  delight.  Mr.  Forster  had,  as  he 
promised,  also  used  every  means  in  his  power  to  re- 
cover for  her  her  unpaid  wages  from  the  creditors  of 
the  Tremaines;  but,  without  a  letter  of  evidence  from 
the  Tremaines  themselves,  every  application  was  use- 
less. Nor  did  any  means  which  Mr.  Forster  used  to 
ascertain  the  present  residence  of  Mrs.  Tremaine,  or 


A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE.  109 

who  were  her  connexions,  succeed.  There  seemed  no 
prospect,  therefore,  but  that  her  wages  would  be  lost; 
and,  even  more  than  that,  that  her  statement  regard- 
ing the  time-piece  would  remain  unproved.  But,  how- 
ever, as  the  Forsters  never  seemed  to  dispute  her 
word,  and  her  present  prosperity  had  rendered  her 
former  loss  less  important,  she  ceased  to  trouble  her- 
self much  about  it. 

Many  were  the  crown-pieces  Jane  received  from 
quiet  Quaker  visitors;  nor  would  her  mistress  deduct 
the  f)ft.y  sniffings  she  had  advanced  at  first,  from  her 
wages— they  were  made  a  free  gift  to  her.  A  new 
gown.,  and  a  really  good  gown  too,  she  received  from 
her  master  as  a  new-year's  gift— her  two  fellow-servants 
received  the  like — and  half-a-dozen  fine  linen  aprons 
from  her  mistress,  materials  for  three  caps,  and  a  neat 
shawl,  from  the  two  young  ladies,  and  an  advance  of 
ten  shillings  to  her  forthcoming  year's  wages.  Was 
there  not  everything  to  make  her  happy  and  grateful  ? 
Yes,  indeed !  she  was  grateful  and  happy,,  and  wrote 
the  most  cheerful  letter  in  the  world  to  Mrs.  Griffiths, 
praying  to  have  tidings  of  Rachel,  as  it  was  now  so 
happily  in  her  power  to  assist  her,  and  praying  also, 
that  if  her  father  wanted  help  she  might  know;  but 
Mrs.  Griffiths'  answer  did  not  come.  Jane  became  a 
little  anxious;  but,  nevertheless,  that  little  anxiety  did 
not  make  her  unhappy.  "  Whenever  they  want  money," 
said  she  to  herself,  "they  shall  have  it:  in  the  mean 
time,  I'll  hope  things  have  mended  with  them."  Jane 
had  long  before  now,  a9  we  may  be  sure,  repaid  Mrs. 
Evans  the  fifteen  shillings  she  had  lent  her;  and  had 
it  now  in  contemplation  to  buy  a  good  well-made 
trunk,  although,  in  the  well-furnished  servants'  rooms 
in  the  Quaker's  house,  she  had  much  less  occasion 
for  a  trunk  than  ever  before  in  her  life. 

What,  however,  was  the  reason  that  the  second 
h 


110  A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE. 

twelve  months  in  this  orderly  comfortable  family  were 
much  less  pleasant  than  the  first?    One  cause  certainly 
was,  that  the  favour  the  heads  of  the  family  showed  to 
her  was  as  gall  and  bitterness  to  the  hearts  of  the  cook 
and  her  niece.     They  had,  they  said,  lived  years  and 
years  in  the  family,  "yet  never  once  had  been  petted 
as  was  this  new  comer.    They  were  not  going  to  quarrel 
with  the  family  on  this  account;  they  knew  too  well 
when  they  were  well  ofF,  to  do  that;  but  they  were 
determined  not  to  show  her  the  same  degree  of  favour 
in  the  kitchen  as  she  received  in  the  parlour;  and,  what 
made  them  even  more  bitter  against  her  still  was,  as 
they  said,  that  that  old  fellow,  Joseph,  was  so  taken 
with  her.  Was  not  he  seen  one  day  giving  her  a  couple 
of  peaches?  and  didn't  he  bring  her  rosebuds  to  stick 
in  her  apron-strings?   What,  they  should  like  to  know, 
had  she  to  do  with  being  decked  out  in  that  way?  and, 
beyond  this,  he  actually  was  caught  fiddling  to  her 
when  the  family  was  out;    he,  that  they  were  sure 
would  not  fiddle  to  them,  let  them  beg  and  pray  ever 
so  much  !     But  they  would  say  nothing,  determined 
these  discreet  women,  although  Louis,  who  had  been 
her  fellow-servant  before   she  came  there,  and  was 
Ellen's  brother,  had  told  them  a  good  deal  about  her; 
they  would  say  nothing — that  they  wouldn't,  because 
they  were  sure  she  would  be  found  out  in  time;  and 
what  was  the  use  of  pointing  out  the  cloven  foot  to  Mrs. 
Forster,  if  she  had  not  sharpness  enough  to  see  it  her- 
self?    They  should  like  to  know,  they  said,  whether  a 
man  might  have  come  about  the  place  after  either  of 
them,  and  not  a  word  be  said,  as  that  footman  had 
come,  no  less  than  twice  last  week.  Yes,  yes,  she'd  be 
found  out  in  time! 

"  Whose  servant  is  that  in  drab  livery,  who  walks 
backward  and  forward  before  our  gate  so  often  ?"  asked 
Joshua  Forster,  one  day  from  Ellen,  as  she  came  in  with 
bedside  carpets,  which  she  had  been  shaking. 


A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE.  Ill 

"  Some  acquaintance  of  Jane's,"  replied  Ellen,  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  Jane  should  not  encourage  young  men  coming  after 
her,"  said  Joshua  Forster;  "has  he  been  often  here?" 

"  Three  or  four  times  he  was  here  last  week,"  said 
Ellen;  "but  it  is  no  business  of  mine,  sir,  so  I  never 
meddle  in  it." 

"  Yes,  it  is  business  of  thine,"  returned  Joshua  For- 
ster; "fellow-servants  should  watch  over  one  another 
for  good,  in  a  spirit  of  love." 

Tbjtt  -evening  the  good  man  told  his  wife  what  he 
had  learjiedXroin  Ellen;  and  the  next  morning  Mrs. 
Forster  sent  for  Jane  into  her  own  room,  telling-  her  that 
the  serious  charge  of  a  young'  man  in  drab  livery 
coming  after  her,  was  made  against  her. 

"  He  was,  ma'am,  a  fellow-servant  of  mine,"  replied 
Jane,  in  her  defence;  "his  mother  is  Mrs.  Evans,  that 
tailor's  wife,  in  Drury  Lane,  who  was  so  kind  to  me; 
he  came  last  week  to  me  with  a  message  from  his 
mother.  I  can't  think,  however,"  added  she,  "  why  he 
should  be  walking  backwards  and  forwards  in  the  lane 
so  much,  unless  he  goes  on  errands  for  his  family." 

"  I  have  a  great  objection  to  followers  after  my  ser- 
vants," said  Mrs.  Forster;  "I  hope  thou  hast  under- 
stood this;  thou  art  too  young  to  think  of  marriage — 
only  two-and-twenty;  by  the  time  thou  art  thirty  "thou 
wilt  have  gained  valuable  experience,  and  have" saved 
something  for  a  comfortable  marriage  portion.  Thy 
appearance,  Jane,  may  gain  thee  admirers;  but  it  be- 
hoves thee,  on  this  account,  to  be  doubly  careful  of  thv 
conduct.  This  young  man  must  be  requested  to  keep 
away;  if  he  have  respect  for  thee,  Jane,  he  will  not 
wish  thee  to  displease  thy  employers." 

"  Oh  dear,  ma'am,"  said  Jane,  "  I  don't  know  that  he 
has  any  thoughts  of  that  sort  towards  me;  I'm  sure  I 
hope  not." 


112  A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE. 

James  Kemp  was  seen  walking  before  the  Forster's 
gate  the  next  evening,  and  again  three  evenings  after- 
wards. Jane  was  really  in  trouble.  What  a  foolish 
young  man  he  was !  She  hoped  with  all  her  heart  the 
family  with  whom  he  lived  would  make  a  pretty  riot 
about  his  going  out  in  this  way!  She  began  to  be 
afraid,  seriously,  that  her  improved  looks,  and  perhaps 
his  mother's  scheming,  had  made  him  now  really  and 
truly  in  love  with  her.  She  feared  the  aunt  and  niece 
in  the  kitchen  beginning  to  suspect  anything  of  this 
kind,  for  she  knew  what  a  cause  of  offence  they  would 
make  it  against  her.  She  dared  not  go  out  to  him  to 
request  him  to  come  less  frequently  about  the  place;  so 
she  went  to  old  Joseph  in  the  garden,  and  begged  him 
to  give  a  hint,  as  out  of  his  own  head,  to  that  young 
man  in  the  drab  livery,  that  the  Quaker's  family,  who 
were  mighty  particular  folks,  would  be  taking  the 
liberty,  before  long,  of  inquiring  his  business,  if  he  was 
seen  frequenting  their  premises  so  much. 

Joseph,  who  was  quite  of  a  nature  to  take  warm 
interest  in  a  love  affair,  and  thinking  that  Jane  took, 
no  doubt,  a  particular  interest  in  the  young  fellow, 
nodded  his  head,  smiled,  quietly  scraped  his  shoes  on 
his  spade,  and  walked  leisurely  to  the  door,  which 
opened  through  the  garden  wall  into  the  road.  The 
young  fellow  in  the  drab  livery  was  not  far  off,  and 
received  the  message  which  old  Joseph  delivered, 
whatever  it  mis-fit  be,  as  if  it  were  the  most  welcome 
in  the  world.  What  the  two  talked  about  so  long  nobody 
knows;  but  talk  a  long  time  they  certainly  did.  The 
drab  livery,  however,  was  not  seen  again  that  day,  nor 
the  next,  nor  the  whole  of  either  that  week  or  the 
following;  but  from  that  day  forth  old  Joseph  was  more 
patronizing  and  civil  to  Jane  than  ever. 

There  must  be  a  restless  demon  within  us,  that  will 
Qot  let  us  be  too  long  satisfied  with  our  own  good;  or 


A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE.  113 

what  could  it  be  that  put  it  into  Jane's  head,  about  this 
time,  to  think  that,  spite  of  the  good  living,  spite  of  the 
good  wages,  spite  of  the  regular  hours,  spite  of  every- 
thing  which  made  service  in  the  Friends' family  a  good 
one,  it  was  but  dull  living  there:  all  so  uniform;  furni- 
ture, dress,  mode  of  life,  all  so  quiet,  so  unvaried  and 
unvarying?  She  was  dissatisfied  with  herself,  because 
of  her  own  dissatisfaction:  she  feared  she  was  ungrateful; 
tried  to  be  pleased;  tried  to  make  the  two  in  the  kitchen 
like,  ben;  tried  to  like  them;  but  they  were  unfriendly 
in  spirit,evgn  more  than  in  word  and  deed,  and  every- 
body knows. what  a  discouraging  thing  it  is  to  strive  for 
the/. winning  of  good  will  from  an  unfriendly  spirit. 
Jane  reasoned  with  herself  and  ag-ainst  herself;  she 
thought  she  was  like  the  ungrateful  children  of  Israel, 
in  desiring  some  of  the  vanity,  and  perhaps  even  dis- 
comforts, of  a  less  exact  servitude,  even  as  they  longed 
for  the  oninns.and  garlick  of  the  Egyptian  fleshpots. 

_  The  Quaker's  house  was  one  of  a  series  of  handsome 
villas  standing  detached,  but  still  sufficiently  near  to 
command  from  the  upper  windows  the  respective  courts 
and  drives  of  each.  The  Forsters'  neighbours  were  a 
most  respectable  family,  but  widely  different  from  them- 
selves—a Major  Winton,  who  had  two  daughters  like- 
wise; but  again,  what  a  contrast  was  there  between  the 
Miss  Forsters  and  the  two  Miss  Wintons!  These  were 
singularly  elegant  and  dashing  girls,  on  whose  account 
the  house,  and  the  whole  neighbourhood,  in  fact,  was 
keptin  a  perpetual  gaiety.  Riding  on  horseback,  driving 
in  carriages,  going-  to  operas,  theatres  and  balls,  made 
the  business  of  the  Miss  Wintons'  life.  Wherever 
they  went  was  festivity  and  mirth;  wherever  they  came 
was  admiration  and  triumph. 

Jane  had  made  a  little  acquaintance  with  their  maid; 
tiad  had  glimpses  of  their  handsome  dresses,  and  their 
splendid  jewellery,  and  had  listened  till  her  head  was 

L  2 


£14  A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE. 

almost  turned,  with  anecdotes  and  histories  of  the  joyous 
life  that  all  the  family  led.  The  Wintons  were  not 
guch  people  as  the  Tremaines,  who  lived  dashingly, 
and  would  end  by  paying  nobody.  Butcher,  baker, 
and  grocer  were  regularly  paid  every  week,  just  as  at 
the  Quaker's.  Nobody  came  and  asked  twice  for  their 
money.  The  servants  had  capital  wages,  and  were  p-*id 
quarterly;  her  friend  the  young  ladies'  maid,  had  twelve 
guineas  a-year,  and  had  now  lived  with  them  two  years: 
she  had  no  thoughts  of  leaving;  said  she  should  have 
unknown  presents  when  they  married,  and  maybe  might 
then  live  with  the  one  that  married  last.  Jane's  place, 
excellent  as  it  was,  sunk  by  comparison;  the  proverb 
says  truly,  that  "comparisons  are  odious  things." 

The  Wintons  were  going  to  give  a  ball.  Jane  was 
shown  the  young  ladies' dresses,  and  the  beautiful  ball- 
room, with  its  splendid  decorations;  and,  more  than 
this,  she  was  invited  by  her  friend,  the  ladies'  maid,  to 
go  in  and  see  the  dancing,  which  Mrs.  Win  tun  always 
allowed  the  servants  to  see,  if  she  could  get  leave;  and 
if  not,  could  not  she  slip  out  unknown  to  anybody,  just 
for  an  hour  or  so?  To  slip  out  unknown  to  anybody 
was  what  Jane  could  not  think  of;  but  so  much  did  all 
this  gaiety  take  possession  of  her  fancy,  that  she  never 
before  did  her  work  so  carelessly,  or  with  so  little 
pleasure.  She  told  Joseph  how  much  she  wished 
that  Quakers  were  like  other  people,  and  had  music 
every  day,  and  dances  now  and  then!  Did  not  Joseph 
think  it  would  be  a  deal  pleasanter?  She  was  quite 
tired,  she  said,  of  the  hum-drum,  prosy  life  she  led ;  she 
wished  Joseph  would  tell  her,  on  his  honest  word,  if 
even  he  did  not  think  it  very  dull.  Joseph  confessed, 
what,  he  said,  he  had  never  confessed  to  anybody  before, 
that  it  was  years  and  years  before  his  mind  was  quite 
sobered  down  to  his  place;  it  was  different  now,  he 
Baid,  for  he  was  getting  an  oldish  man,  and  quietness 


A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE.  114 

and  regularity  suited  him.  He  thought,  he  said,  folks 
must  be  born  Quakers,  to  fall  into  their  quiet  ways, 
natural,  as  one  may  say.  He  used,  he  said,  when  he 
first  came,  to  caper  many  a  bit  to  himself,  and  fiddle 
and  sing  when  nobody  was  by;  but,  as  he  said  before, 
by  degrees  he  got  used  to  it,  and  now  he  did  not  believe, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  Jane  reminding  him  of  it,  he  ever 
should  have  remembered  how  he  had  felt  so  lone  since; 
and  yet,  he  said,  he  thought  when  she  came  to  the 
place  that  it  was  ten  to  one  if  it  suited  her  long.  He 
should"  be  mortal  sorry,  he  said,  if  she  thought  of  leaving, 
for-hp  OHist-eonfess  he  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  her; 
the' -house  was  quite  another  sort  of  place  when  she  was 
in  it;  he  hoped  she  didn't  think  of  leaving.  And  then  he 
began  making  a  flower-border  with  all  his  might,  as  if 
he  had  his  own  private  reasons  for  not  letting  Jane  see 
his  face  any  longer. 

That  same  afternoon  Joseph  came  up  to  Jane's 
pantry  window,  where  she  was  preparing  her  tray  for 
dinner;  he  looked  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  as  if  to 
see  that  nobody  was  either  listening  or  observing  him. 
The  aspect  of  things  seeming  favourable,  he  leaned  in 
at  the  open  window,  and  said,  somebody,  that  should 
be  nameless,  had  just  been  at  the  garden-gate  with 
him;  his  young  ladies  would  all  be  at  the  Wintons 
that  night  with  their  mother;  he  should  have  to  be 
there  with  the  carriage,  but  he  would  come  an  hour 
beforehand;  the  coachman  could  bring  up  the  carriage 
well  enough  without  him,  so  that  he  was  there  to 
receive  it;  could  not  Jane  contrive  to  see  him  that 
night?  he  would  be  there  at  eleven  o'clock,  punctually. 
"  I  say  nothing,  one  way  or  another,"  said  Joseph; 
"but  I  know  well  enough  what  1  should  do  if  I  were 
you." 

"  Why,  outfit  not  you  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself," 
said  Jane,  laughing,  "  for  a  good-for-nothing  old  lellow, 


116  A  CHAPTER  OF  STILL  LIFE. 

to  bring  your  master's  servant  a  message  like  that  ? 
And  you  know  well  enough,  that  if  I  were  to  go  out 
at  eleven  o'clock,  to  meet  Kemp  or  anybody  else,  they 
would  turn  me  off  without  a  character.  You  had 
better  by  half  tell  Kemp  to  give  you  no  messages  for 
me — and  that  I  tell  you  plainly,  Master  Joseph." 

Jane  blushed,  and  pouted  her  lips,  and  did  not  look 
very  much  displeased  for  all  that;  but,  as  Mrs.  Forster 
and  her  two  daughters  were  seen  at  that  moment 
walking  up  the  garden,  Joseph  thought  it  as  well  to 
withdraw.  The  Forsters  were  talking  of  Jane  as  they 
walked  in  the  garden.  They  said  she  certainly  was  in 
some  respects  altered  from  what  she  was,  they  could 
not  exactly  say  how;  and  perhaps,  after  all,  they 
should  not  have  noticed  anything,  had  it  not  been  for 
hints  which  cook  and  Ellen  dropped  continually;  they 
were  afraid  she  was  getting  intimate  with  the  Wintons' 
servants;  and  the  Wintons,  though  in  a  worldly  point 
of  view  respectable  people,  had  not  that  care  and 
oversight  of  their  servants  which  was  desirable. 

Quite  unconscious  of  what  had  been  said  about  her, 
and  not  seriously  annoyed,  as  it  appeared,  by  the  pros- 
pect of  seeing  James  Kemp  that  night,  Jane  ventured  in 
the  eveninsr  to  ask  Miss  Maria  Forster  for  permission 
to  go  to  the  next  house  to  see  the  dancing.  Had 
Miss  Maria  been  bitten  by  an  asp,  she  could  not  have 
dropped  the  French  cambric  pocket-handkerchief,  which 
she  was  hemming,  with  more  apparent  surprise  and 
horror  than  she  did  on  hearing  this  request  from  Jane. 
If  there  was  one  thing  which  this  pious  Quaker  family 
held  in  greater  abhorrence  than  another,  it  was  dancing. 
Perhaps  they  never  had  seen  a  dance  in  their  lives,  but 
to  their  imaginations  it  was  an  abominable  thing,  a 
thing  which  no  person  with  any  decent  feeling  could 
with  propriety  witness,  much  less  practise.  The  word 
was  never  spoken  in  their  family,  unless  with  abhor- 


A  CHATTER  OF  STILL  LIFE.  117 

rence :  dancing  men  and  dancing  women !  what  did 
not  these -terrific  words  imply? 

The  family  mourned  over  Jane's  request,  as  if  in  it 
they  had  indeed  seen  her  first  downward  step  towards 
perdition.  They  were  sincere  in  their  sorrow,  for  they 
were  none  of  them  hypocrites. 

"  Thou  hast  grieved  us  much,  Jane,  by  thy  request," 
said  good  Mrs.  Forster;  "  I  am  sorry  that  thou  valuest 
not  the  privileges  thou  enjoyest  here:  a  guarded  life, 
an  ah=eiice  from  temptation,  a  removal  from  the  plea- 
sures and  follies  of  the  world.  These,  after  which  thou 
crav'e'st,  are  unprofitable  sights  and  sounds.  Thou 
mus,t,  my  young  friend,  strive  to  live  nearer  to  the 
light  within  thee,  which  will  lead  thee  aright,  and 
preserve  thee  from  evil.  I  cannot  permit  thee  to 
associate  with  neighbour  Winton's  servants:  they  are 
light,  airy,  young  people,  who  can  do  thee  no  good. 
We  think  well  of  thee,  Jane,"  continued  the  excellent 
lady,  in  the  kindest  tone  of  Christian  love;  "  «e  would 
not  willingly  see  thee  going  wrong;  but  our  own  walking 
must  depend  upon  ourselves;  another  cannot  compass 
our  salvation  for  us:  thou  must  strive  against  a  light 
and  airy  mind,  always  remembering  that  any  wrong 
doing  of  thine  will  grieve  us  greatly." 

Jane  really  was  touched,  more  by  the  manner,  how- 
ever, than  by  the  arguments  she  used.  She  could  not 
help  crying,  and  thinking  that  it  really  was  very  wrong 
of  her,  and  very  ungrateful  too,  not  to  be  bolh  con- 
tented and  happy  in  such  a  family  as  this;  and,  full  of 
these  sentiments,  she  went  into  the  kitchen,  deter- 
mining to  sit  down  steadily  to  her  work,  and  not  to 
listen  to  the  music,  when  it  should  peal  through  the 
open  windows  of  the  next  house,  nor  even  go  up  into 
her  bed-room,  as  she  had  thought  of,  to  watch  the 
arrival  of  the  carriages,  and  the  alighting  of  their  gay 
inmates. 


118 

CHAPTER  IX. 

EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

tt  the  Wintons  had  their  balls  and  their  dissipations, 
the  Quaker  family  had  also  their  little  divertisements; 
the  principal,  perhaps,  of  which  was  the  going  of  the 
whole  family  to  what  were  called  their  Quarterly 
Meetings.  The  Forsters,  being  rich  influential  people  in 
their  own  sect,  had  many  friends  and  acquaintance;  and 
on  these  occasions  all  met,  "men  and  women  Friends," 
as  they  would  have  said;  which  naturally  enough  gave 
a  great  pleasure  to  all — to  the  young  certainly,  more 
especially.  There  was  the  attending  meetings  in  the 
morning,  or  perhaps  for  a  whole  day;  arid  then,  the 
next  day,  or  perhaps  for  two  or  three  days  afterwards, 
the  young  people  would  make  excursions  into  the 
neighbouring  country,  visit  fine  scenery  or  memorable 
halls  or  ruins,  historical  scenes,  or  scenes  even  of  an 
interesting  story;  and,  excepting  that  they  wore  the 
garb  of  a  grave  people,  would  on  such  occasions  be  not 
only  extremely  happy  but  really  gay. 

The  Forsters  were  most  regular  attenders  of  Quar- 
terly Meetings;  and,  as  the  daughters  were  known  to 
be  good  fortunes,  they  were  eagerly  in  demand  to  join 
all  parties  among  the  young.  The  happy  time  of  the 
Quarterly  Meeting  was  now  at  hand;  and  the  family 
would  be  absent  for  a  week.  There  was  no  occasion, 
in  a  Friend's  house,  to  make  this  'family  absence  a 
time  of  cleaning,  because  the  house  always  was  as 
clean  as  hands  could  make  it.  On  these  occasions, 
therefore,  the  servants  were  allowed  a  holiday  also. 
Jane  had  nowhere  particular  to  go;  it  was  arranged, 
therefore,  that  the  cook  and  her  niece  should  have 
five  days  out  of  the  seven,  to  spend  with  their  own 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT.  119 

kith  and  kin,  while  Jane  and  the  old  gardener  kept 
house  between  them. 

Jane  had  borne  the  refusal  to  see  the  dancing  so 
well,  that  the  family  had  even  restored  her  to  more 
than  the  accustomed  favour.  The  cook  and  Ellen  were 
not  at  all  vrell  pleased  at  the  kind,  friendly  tone  in 
which  all  the  family  said  "  Farewell,  Jane,"  to  her,  as 
they  drove  off;  the  word  had  been  the  same  to  each  of 
them,  but  they  detected  a  difference  in  the  tone. 

Old  Joseph  rubbed  his  hands,  and  looked  as  funny 
as  could  be.Avhen  the  cook  and  her  niece  were  carried 
off  the  nextiiay  by  the  omnibus.  He  began  singing, 
"  A»yay  dull  care,"  as  merry  as  a  lark,  and  told  Jane  he 
had  been  furbishing  up  his  old  fiddle,  to  give  her  a  tune 
at  nights;  and,  if  a  nice  young  fellow  would  but  drop 
in,  might  not  they  three  be  rare  good  company  together ! 
Jane  was  terrified  almost  out  of  her  senses,  lest  the 
silly  old  man  might  have  made  some  compact  of  the 
sort  with  James  Kemp. 

In  the  evening,  Miss  Winton's  maid  came  in  with 
her  sewing,  and  they  three,  without  "  the  nice  young 
fellow,"  were  as  merry  as  need  be.  There  had  not  been 
as  much  laughing  in  that  kitchen  for  years  as  there 
was  that  night.  Joseph  fiddled  and  sung,  and  Jane 
sung,  and  so  did  Miss  Winton's  maid;  and  really  it  was 
eleven  o'clock  before  they  had  an  idea  it  was  more 
than  nine.  Miss  Winton's  maid  said,  at  parting,  that 
if  it  were  not  for  the  cook  and  Ellen,  she  would  often 
come  in  at  night  when  her  young  ladies  were  out;  and 
Joseph  said,  he  wished  with  all  his  heart  he  was  a 
young  man,  for  their  two  sakes;  and  yet  he  was  very 
glad  he  wasn't,  for  they  were  both  such  nice  girls,  it 
would  be  so  hard  to  choose  between  them.  Dear  me! 
what  a  many  silly  things  were  said  that  night!  which  put 
them  into  such  good  humour  with  one  another,  and 
made  them  all  think  "  what  a  pleasant  thing  a  bit  of 
company  was!" 


120  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

The  next  night  Miss  Winton's  maid  invited  Jane  to 
come  in  and  see  them,  and  invited  old  Joseph  and  his 
fiddle  too;  by  which  means  the  servants'  hall  at  the 
Wintons  was  ten  times  merrier  than  the  Forsters' 
kitchen  had  been  the  night  before;  nay,  we  must  even 
confess,  that  they  got  up  a  dance  among  them,  and 
found  it  such  a  right  pleasant  affair,  that  at  twelve 
o'clock,  at  which  hour  the  Wintons'  carriage  went  to 
fetch  home  their  family,  Jane  came  back  to  their  own 
quiet  house,  with  one  sigh,  to  think  that  the  Quakers 
thought  music  and  dancing  so  improper,  and  with 
another  sigh,  to  think  how  displeased  the  family  would 
be  if  they  knew  what  had  been  going  on  in  their 
absence. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast,  old  Joseph  asked, 
quite  in  a  natural  sort  of  way,  if  Jane  hadn't  said  that 
she  wanted  to  go  shopping?  Yes,  sure,  Jane  had  said 
so;  she  did  want  to  buy  a  good  many  things,  but  she 
had  not  made  up  her  mind  at  all  as  to  what  day  sho 
would  go.  Upon  this  the  old  man  proposed  that  sho 
should  go  that  day — yes,  that  very  day.  What  was  tho 
use,  he  said,  of  putting  it  off?  And,  more  than  this,  as: 
she  was  going  she  might  as  well  spend  the  whole  daj 
abroad — might  stay  till  the  last  omnibus  went,  and  sc 
make  it  worth  while.  She  often  talked  about  Mrs. 
Evans,  in  Drury  Lane;  now,  Mrs.  Evans,  he  was  sure, 
would  like  to  go  shopping  with  her,  and  would  be  so 
glad  to  have  her  there  for  the  whole  day.  She  must 
go — she  must  and  should  go — the  old  man  said,  and 
so  she  need  make  no  opposition! 

What  did  Joseph  kno%v  about  Mrs.  Evans  being  so 
glad  to  have  Jane  with  her,  and  to  go  shopping  with 
her?  Yes,  what  indeed!  Jane  thought  it  was  rather 
odd  the  old  fellow  should  be  so  zealous  about  Mrs. 
Evans;  and  yet,  short-sighted  girl!  it  never  came  into 
her  head  that  Jemmy  might  have  been  suggesting  this 
to  the  old  gardener;  so  she  listened  to  what  he  said, 


EATING  OF  FOUBIDI5EN  FRUIT.  12i 

and,  by  degrees,  found  a  willing  spirit  growing  up 
within  her  to  go — to  go  even  that  very  day.  Joseph 
impressed  upon  her  again  and  again,  that  she  need  not 
hurry  in  coming  back  at  night,  and  that  he  would  be  at 
the  end  of  the  lane  to  meet  her  by  the  last  omnibus; 
and  now  she  must  go  and  enjoy  herself  to  her  heart's 
content. 

It  was  very  kind  of  the  old  fellow!  thought  Jane, 
as  she  dressed  herself.  "  It  was  very  kind  indeed!" 
repeated  she,  with  a  still  warmer  emphasis,  as  she 
walked  to  the  lane-end  to  take  the  ten  o'clock  morning 
omnibus;  and  she  would  bring  a  neckerchief,  or  some 
littje  thing  or  other,  back  with  her  for  him — that  she 
would! 

Someway  or  other,  Mrs.  Evans  did  not  seem  at  all 
surprised  to  see  her.  She  said  she  had  been  thinking 
about  her  all  the  morning;  and  how  lucky  it  was  that 
there  was  a  cold  veal  pie  in  the  house,  for  thus  they 
could  get  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and  go  out  shopping,  as 
nice  as  could  be,  without  her  having  to  stop  at  home 
to  cook  for  her  husband  and  the  boys.  It  was  lucky 
she  had  come  that  day  of  all  others,  said  Mrs.  Evans, 
resuming  the  subject  as  they  were  on  their  way  to  a 
famous  bargain  shop,  very  lucky,  for  she  should  not 
wonder  if  Jemmy  came  in  in  the  evening,  for,  his 
new  employer  being  a  bachelor,  and  in  parliament,  he 
had  famous  holidays  when  his  master  was  so  late  in  the 
House.  • 

Whether  Mrs.  Evans  had  particular  reasons  for 
expecting  her  son  that  night  or  not  we  need  not  say; 
but,  however,  this  was  certain,  that  when  the  two 
returned  from  their  shopping  it  was  four  o'clock,  and 
James  Kemp  was  standing  re-adjusting  his  shirt-collar 
by  the  kitchen  looking-glass.  James  never  in  his  whole 
life  was  in  higher  spirits;  he  looked  particularly  well  that 
day;  the  new  dark-green  livery  certainly  became  him 

M 


122  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

better  than  the  drab,  and  Jane  felt  not  only  quite  disposed 
to  be  in  good  humour  with  him,  but  with  all  the  world. 
While  they  were  sitting  at  tea,  Mrs.  Evans  suggested 
that  they  might  just  as  well  go  to  the  play  that  night- 
it  would  be  such  a  nice  amusement  for  Jane;  where- 
upon James  replied,  "  To  be  sure!"  immediately  pro- 
ducing three  tickets  from  his  pocket. 

"Well  now!  who  could  have  thought  of  that?" 
exclaimed  his  mother,  treading  upon  his  toe  at  the 
same  moment,  which  was  intended  to  express  to  him 
her  wish  that  Jane  should  have  no  idea  of  all  this 
being  a  regularly  plotted  and  planned  scheme  ;  and 
Jane,  who  neither  saw  the  intimation  under  the  table, 
nor  of  course  could  know  the  working  of  Mrs.  Evans's 
mind,  thought  that  really  it  was  kind  of  both  mother 
and  son  to  devise  so  much  pleasure  for  her;  and,  if  it 
were  only  out  of  common  gratitude,  she  must  be 
greatly  pleased;  and  again  she  thought  how  lucky  it 
was  that  old  Joseph  had  pressed  her  to  stay  till  the 
last  omnibus. 

Our  readers  may  perhaps  say  that  Jane  ought  not 
to  have  gone  to  the  theatre  on  any  terms,  knowing,  as 
she  did,  the  objection  her  master  and  his  family  had  to 
places  of  public  amusement  or  dissipation  of  any  kind. 
Perhaps,  strictly  speaking,  she  ought  not  to  have  done 
so;  but  Jane  was  young,  and  pleasure  and  novelty 
how  attractive  and  fascinating  are  they,  to  the  young 
especially!  Jane  thought  of  Mrs.  Forster,  nevertheless; 
thought  that  if  she  were  to  see  her  as  she  was  about 
entering  the  theatre,  she  certainly  should  faint.  But 
there  was  no  fear  of  that:  so  she  gave  way  to  the  full 
flutter  of  impatience  and  delight,  which  is  the  most 
natural  impulse  in  the  prospect  of  the  near  enjoyment 
of  a  long-desired  and  long-delayed  pleasure. 

The  play  which  was  acted  that  night  was  King 
Lear — acted  wUh  all  the  advantage  of  scenery  and 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT.  123 

illusion,  and  by  perhaps  some  of  the  best  actors  in  the 
world;- and  the  effect  on  Jane  was  thrillingly  over- 
powering. She  sympathized  with  all  her  soul  in  the 
incidents  of  the  piece;  she  saw  her  lather — far  unlike 
him  as  he  was — in  the  dethroned  and  deserted  king; 
she  felt  herself  like  a  Cordelia,  and  wept  till  Mrs. 
Evans  and  her  son  told  her  they  were  quite  ashamed 
of  her.  It  did  not  matter  to  her  at  that  moment  what 
anybody  thought  about  her;  she  felt  raised  above  self, 
elevated  i>  any  self-sacrifice  for  those  near  and  dear 
to  her!  -She  thought  of  her  father,  of  John,  of  poor 
Kachel — ay,  Rachel!  and  where  was  she  ?  She  thought 
6/  poor  Tittle  Letty,  who  in  her  small  way  had  sacri- 
ficed her  prospects  in  life  out  of  devotion  to  that  little 
step-sister,  till  disinterestedness  and  self-forgetting 
seemed  to  her  the  highest  angel  virtues.  She  forgot 
the  theatre,  forgot  the  people  about  her;  and  a  prayer 
rose  in  her  soul,  that  she  might  be  made  an  instrument 
of  blessing  to  those  who  were  so  precious  to  her. 

"  Well,  it  has  done  me  more  good  than  twenty  ser- 
mons!" said  Jane,  as  they  came  out  of  the  theatre  as 
soon  as  King  Lear  was  ended,  without  waiting  for  the 
after-piece,  in  order  that  Jane  might  be  in  time  for  the 
last  omnibus. 

As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  street,  just  clear  of  the 
theatre-door,  the  figure  of  a  woman,  wrapped  in  a 
large  cloak,  and  bearing  something  in  her  arms,  stood 
on  the  pavement  before  them. 

"  For  God's  sake,  give  me  something  to  buy  bread 
with  !"  said  the  woman,  addressing  them.  Mrs.  Evans 
and  her  son  were  passing  on :  Jane  stopped.  "  For  God's 
sake!"  said  the  woman.  Was  Jane's  imagination 
excited  by  her  feelings  during  the  play,  or  was  that 
voice  indeed  too  familiar? 

"I  have  eaten  nothing  for  two  days!"  said  the 
poor  creature. 


124  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

"Rachel!"  exclaimed  Jane,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
feeling  almost  ready  to  faint. 

"Come  on,  come  on!"  said  Mrs.  Evans  ;  "you'll 
lose  the  omnibus!" 

"  You  must  not  stand  here,"  said  Kemp. 

Jane  drew  her  arm  from  his.  "  Rachel !"  continued 
she,  addressing  the  woman;  "oh,  my  God,  Rachel,  is 
it  you  ?" 

"  I  tell  you,  Jane,  you'll  lose  the  omnibus,"  repeated 
Mrs.  Evans;  "  whatever  are  you  stopping  for?" 

"  I  must  stop,"  returned  Jane;  "  I  must  know  who 
this  young  woman  is!  Now  tell  me,  for  Heaven's 
sake,"  said  she,  turning  to  her  asrain.  "is  it  vou, 
Rachel?"  J 

"Who  are  you,  woman?"  interrupted  Mrs.  Evans, 
getting  quite  angry. 

"  It  never  will  do  to  stand  thus,"  whispered  Kemp 
to  her  earnestly. 

"Go  on  then!  go  on  then!"  returned  Jane;  "lam 
afraid  of  nothing;  leave  me  with  her;  go  with  your 
mother,  James.  And  now,"  said  she,  again  turning  to 
the  woman,  and  drawing  her  a  little  aside,  "  tell  me  if 
you  are  Rachel;  you  know  who  I  mean,  if  you  are 
that  unhappy  girl,  and  you  know  also  who  I  am ! — 
Speak,  dear  Rachel;  I  will  not  be  ashamed  of  you,  let 
you  be  as  wretched  and  miserable  as  you  may." 

The  poor  young  creature  began  to  sob  bitterly,  but 
made  no  reply. 

"  Let  us  walk  on,"  said  Jane,  as  Kemp  again  urged 
her;  "  I  dare  say  it  is  not  right  to  stand  here;  I  have 
a  friend's  house  just  at  hand,  and  there  I  will  take 
you." 

"  Surely  she  will  not  bring  that  woman  into  our  house ! 
that  I  will  never  allow!"  said  Mrs.  Evans  to  her  son; 
and  then  trudged  off,  sorely  out  of  humour,  while  James 
walked  beside  the  two,  the  woman  still  continuing-  to 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT.  125 

weep,  arid  concealing  her  face  as  much  as  might  be,  in 
the  folds  of  her  cloak. 

"  She  must  come  in  as  well  as  me,"  said  Jane  to 
Kemp,  as  they  all  three  paused  at  the  door  together; 
"or  I  will  take  her  on  with  me  to  Tottenham,"  added 
she,  seeing  him  demur  as  to  an  assent. 

"No,"  said  Kemp,  half  hesitatingly;  "but  who  is 
she,  Jane  ?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  tell  who  she  is,"  replied  she;  "it 
is  enough  -that  1  will  pay  for  what  she  has.  Only  this 
one*night,  James,"  said  she;  "ask  it  as  a  favour  from 
youi  motffer;  do  it  as  a  favour  to  me,  James — as  the 
dearest,  the  best  favour  you  can  do  me,"  added  she, 
laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  glad  at  that  moment  to 
have  any  influence  over  him. 

James  went  to  his  mother,  leaving  the  two  in  the 
narrow  dark  passage  which  led  to  the  staircase. 

"Oh!"  said  the  young  woman,  in  a  voice  almost 
inaudible  from  weeping,  "to  think  of  your  finding  me! 
1  had  Imped  to  have  died  without  your  knowing  what 
was  become  of  me!  Oh,  Jane!  Jane! — and  I  wish  I 
was  dead,  me  and  my  baby  too!" 

"  Baby! "exclaimed  Jane.  "  Oh,  Rachel,  is  it  so  bad 
as  that '/" 

Rachel,  for  so  we  will  now  call  her,  began  afresh  to 
weep  and  sob,  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Kemp  was  a  long  time  before  he  came  down,  and 
then  he  said  his  mother  would  not  make  any  objection — 
they  might  go  up.  Mrs.  Evans  did  not  make  any  objec- 
tion in  words;  but  we  will  not  tell  how  ill-tempered 
she  wa«,  nor  how  reluctant  to  let  Jane  and  her  unfor- 
tunate sister  sit  up  all  night  by  the  kitchen  fire.  We  will 
pass  all  that;  but  we  will  not  omit  to  tell  how  doubly 
kind  was  James  Kemp  that  night — how  he  ran  out  and 
bought  a  loaf  and  milk  for  them,  and  how  he  boiled 
water  for  their  tea;  and,  though  he  did  not  smile  much, 

H  2 


126  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

.ooked  so  kindly  on  them  both;  and  how  Jane  thought, 
*  Well,  if  there  was  one  thing  in  this  world  which  would 
nake  her  love  him,  it  was  seeing  him  behave  in  that 

wav!" 

Poor  Kemp !  he  staid  out  sadly  late  that  night — later 
even  than  liis  master  staid  in  the  House— and  nearly 
jot  a  discharge  from  his  place  in  consequence.  But  we 
will  leave  James,  as  we  left  his  mother;  and  we  will 
leave  old  Joseph  also,  who,  not  meeting  Jane  by  the 
last  omnibus,  poor  old  man!  got  almost  out  of  his  senses 
with  anxiety  and  terror,  lest  he  knew  not  what  dread- 
ful fate  had  befallen  her. 

The  story  that  Rachel  had  to  tell  was  a  short  and 
sad,  though  very  common  one.  She  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  young  man  in  Nottingham,  who  pro- 
mised to  marry  her.  Impatient  to  leave  a  home  which 
was  miserable,  and  too  proud  to  take  a  servant's  place, 
she  listened  unwarily  to  the  allurements  of  her  lover. 
Mark  Griffiths's  money  came  at  that  terrible  time,  when 
she  began  to  suspect  the  perfidy  of  her  suitor.  Afraid 
of  disgrace  at  home,  she  fled  to  a  neighbouring  town, 
where  she  believed  her  lover  to  be,  but  he  was  not 
there;  and  there  news  reached  her  of  Mima  Higgins's 
prosperity  in  London.  She  sold,  therefore,  some  of 
her  clothes,  in  order,  with  the  remainder  of  Mark's 
money,  to  reach  London  too,  in  the  hope  that  Mima 
would  befriend  her.  Mima  Higgins,  however,  was 
gone— gone,  it  was  said,  to  Brighton,  the  gay  mistress 
of  a  wealthy  man.  Forlorn  as  human  being  could  be, 
and  unfortunate,  perhaps,  rather  than  wicked,  she  stood 
aghast  at  the  horrible  prospect  which  a  very  short  time 
sufficed  to  open  before  her. 

The  abandoned  and  the  designing  were  round  her; 
want  was  pressing  upon  her;  the  vastness,  the  heart- 
lessness,  the  unmanagable  wealth,  and  the  equally  un- 
managable  misery  and  poverty  of  London,  overwhelmed 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT.  127 

and  terjified  her.  She  got  glimpses  of  its  crime, 
that  filled  her  with  shuddering  dread;  she  saw  those, 
young  as  herself,  reckless  and  hardened  ministers  of 
vice;  she  saw  an  abandonment  of  principle  and  virtue, 
and  revelling  and  rejoicing  in  evil,  which,  unstable  as 
had  hitherto  been  her  moral  nature,  revolted  her  very 
soul.  Vice  stood  before  her  in  all  its  native  deformity; 
and  she,  that  would  have  been  gulled  and  allured  by 
it,  had  it  come  veiled  or  adorned  before  her,  stood  like 
»petrifiejj  image  of  horror,  with  no  power  to  flee. 

<iroor  unhappy  Rachel!  she  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  thc^cpafty  and  the  cruel;  yet  she  never  became  the 
Willing  tool  they  required. 

Her  child  was  born  in  the  midst  of  scenes  which  she 
attempted  not  to  describe.  The  sight  of  that  living 
child  was,  she  said,  the  first  thing  that  touched  her 
heart  with  a  sentiment  of  human  love  in  London.  Love 
which  no  words  could  express,  filled  her  heart  towards 
it;  her  mother — oh,  then  she  was  only  first  capable  of 
understanding  and  appreciating  her  own  mother's  love 
and  virtues — her  mother,  her  father,  her  sisters,  how 
she  loved  them,  as  she  had  never  loved  them  before! 
She  opened  her  soul  to  no  one,  but  wept  in  secret  over 
her  child.  It  was  a  girl;  and,  out  of  deep  heart-love, 
«he  called  it  Jane. 

Rachel  had  experienced  misery  in  many  shapes,  the 
(east  of  which  perhaps  were  the  common  ones — cold, 
hunger,  poverty,and  sickness.  How  far  she  actually  had 
sinned,  her  sister  w  ished  not  to  know,  nor  would  Rachel 
tell. 

Two  years  were  now  passed  since  she  came  first  to 
London,  and  the  days  of  her  mortal  pilgrimage  were 
wearing  to  their  end.  She  had  no  home,  and  had  lived 
now  for  weeks  in  the  bare  streets,  as  she  could,  carry- 
ing her  child  in  her  arms,  or  dragging  it  alone  by  the 
hand,  and  attracting  charity,  less  by  words  than  by  the 


128  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

■ppeals  of  a  countenance  on  which  a  broken  heart  and 
the  finger  of  death  had  written  legible  characters. 

bhe  said  she  knew  that  Jane  was  in  London,  but 
she  had  no  desire  to  see  her;  she  cared  for  nothin- 
now  in  this  world  but  her  child.  She  had  a  sort  or 
laith,  she  said,  that  for  her  innocent  child's  sake  some 
helper  or  other  would  rise  up;  and  now  she  had  found 
her  She  said  she  never  would  have  been  recognized 
by  her  sister;  that  she  would  have  denied  her  own 
identity,  had  it  not  been  for  her  child's  sake;  but  that 
something  within  her  own  heart  told  her,  when  she 
saw  them  come  out  of  the  theatre  door,  "  Now  is  the 
time— the  saviour  of  thy  child  is  at  hand  '" 

Poor  Jane!  what  an  awful  charge  was  thus  laid 
upon  her!  what  was  she  to  do  with  the  child  9  She 
sighed  deeply,  cast  her  thoughts  and  the  burden  of 
them  upwards  and  upon  God,  and  remained  silent. 

1  shall  burden  nobody  long,"  said  Rachel;  '«  I  will 
go  out  again  into  the  streets,  and  die  !      But  mv  child 
I  will  leave  with  you!     You  will  care  for   her;  vou 
must,   you  shall!"  said   she,  with  a  wild   energy  that 
suggested  to  Jane  that  perhaps  her  sister's  brain  was 
disordered.     «  Oh.  Jane,  Jane,"  continued  she,  drop- 
ping  on  her  knees  before  her,  «  promise  me  this!     It 
is  a  pretty  child;  it  is  an  innocent  child;  it  is  a  -irl 
Jane-only  think  of  that;    and  I   culled   it   by    "our 
name!     Cast  ,t  not  off  from  you;  it  has  no  fiend  in 
all  the  wide  world  but  you!     No,  no,  Jane!   I  will 
notnse!      said  she,   repelling  her  sister's    efforts    to 
raise  her;  « I  will  kneel  to  you-I  will  throw  myself 
on  the  ground  at  your  feet,  but  1  will  not  be  refused.' 
1  have  been  wicked,  Jane;   I  nem-  was  good  like  you- 
I  never  was  worthy  of  you;  but  we  are  the  daughters' 
Of  one  mother;  and  not  for  my  sake,  Jane,  but  for  hers 
who  is  now  an  angel  in  heaven,  return  good   for  evil; 
forget  how  wicked  and  unworthy  I  have  been,  and 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN   FRUIT.  12P 

grant  '.le  one  request  of  my  dying1  lips— take  eare  of 
my  chi'd,  and  forget  me ! " 

"Oh,  Rachel!  Rachel!"  exclaimed  Jane,  throwing 
herself  on  her  knees  by  her  sister,  and  praying  aloud, 
as  she  had  never  prayed  till  then,  that  God  would  be 
with  them,  that  God  would  be  a  father  to  them,  and 
help  them  through  the  depth  and  horror  of  this  great 
darkness ! 

When  Mrs.  Evans  made  her  appearance  the  next 
morning  she  was  in  considerably  better  temper  than 
the  -night  before;  and,  without  a  deal  of  persuasion, 
consentecLtbat  Rachel,  for  a  day  or  two,  should  become 
th*  inmate  of  an  untenanted  upper  room,  in  which  was 
a  bed.  Jane,  without  telling  the  relationship  between 
them,  said  she  would  pay  for  what  she  had;  that  Mrs. 
Evans  need  fear  no  ill  consequence  from  this  per- 
mission; and  that  she  herself  would  return  in  the 
evening  with  clothes  and  a  few  necessaries  for  her. 
Mrs.  Evans  did  not  like  all  this;  she  did  not  like  not 
being  made  Jane's  confidant  in  all  her  knowledge  of 
this  suspicious  stranger,  and  of  her  plans  in  her  behalf: 
therefore,  though  she  had  consented,  she  made  Jane 
feel  that  she  was  far  from  satisfied. 

Jane  left  the  house  to  return  to  Tottenham.  It  was 
Sunday  morning;  and,  being  then  church-time,  the 
omnibuses  were  not  running:  so  she  walked  leisurely 
homeward,  glad  of  the  calm  fresh  air  and  the  opportu- 
nity to  think  over  this  sad  circumstance,  with  its 
appalling  demands  upon  her.  She  had  formed  no 
plan  with  regard  to  her  sister;  she  could  not  tell,  indeed, 
what  was  best  to  do  farther  than,  for  the  present  mo- 
ment, to  spare  some  of  her  own  clothes  for  her  use: 
glad  that  good  old  Joseph  alone  was  at  home,  that 
thus,  if  she  required  another  night  at  her  own  disposal, 
she  might  have  it.  She  was  half  inclined  to  make  the 
old  man  her  confidant  in  the  whole  affair;  for  he  was 


ISO  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FROIT. 

rery  much   her  friend,  and   had,  she  thought,  more 
native  charity,  even  for  wrong  doers,  than  most  people. 
While  she  was  thinking' thus,  a  large  placard,  at  the 
door  of  a  great  Methodist  chapel,  caught   her  eve. 
"Charity  sermon,  to  he  preached  by  the  Rev.  Joshua 
Main  waring;"  to  be  preached  that  very  morning,  and 
in  that  very  chapel— was,  in  fact,  beiny  preached  at 
that  very  moment !      All  at  once  an  idea  struck  her: 
was  not   Mr.  Mainwaring  the  very  person  to  counsel 
with?  he,  the  friend  and  counsellor  of  sinners,  as  his 
Great  Master  had  been  before  him.     Was  not  Kachel 
known  to  him?  and,  oh!  what  comfort  and  blessing 
might  not  reach  that  forlorn  soul  from  the  prayers  and 
teaching  of  that  good  man.     Jane  did  not  forget  how 
she  had  parted  with  the  Mainwarings,  but  she  remem- 
bered at  that  moment  also,  that  they  were  Christians; 
and,  with  earnest  faith  in  the  goodness  of  Christian 
love,  she  doubted  not  but  that  thev— both   he  and  his 
wife,  if  she  were  in  London  — would  forget  their  dis- 
pleasure against  her,  in  their  joy  to  save"  an  unhappy 
sinner.  rr 

The  sermon  was  just  at  an  end  as  she  entered  the 
chapel;  Mr.  Mainwaring  had  taken  his  seat  in  the 
pulpit,  and  the  hymn  was  being  given  out.  In  the 
agitated  state  of  Jane's  mind  there  was  something  to 
her  wonderfully  consolatory  and  encouraging  in  the 
prayer  with  which  Mr.  Mainwaring  closed  the  "morning 
service.  A  feeling  of  hope  and  thankfulness  filled  her 
heart;  and,  pressing  through  the  retiring  congregation, 
she  begged  to  be  admitted  to  the  vestry  for  a  few 
minutes' conversation  with  Mr.  Mainwaring. 

A  momentary  coldness  passed  over  his  face  as  Jane 
presented  herself  before  him,  but  it  vanished  almost  as 
soon  as  it  came.  Jane  begged  for  a  private  interview, 
for  many  persons  were  with  him  at  the  moment  of  her 
entrance;  these  he  dismissed,  and  then  couducted  hei 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT.  131 

from  the  vestry  into  a  well-furnished  and  rather  hand- 
some room,  of  the  adjoining:  dwelling-house — of  his  own 
dwelling-house,  in  fact.  Jane,  as  hastily  as  she  couid, 
yet"  not  without  tears,  told  him  the  sad  history  of 
Rachel,  her  own  peculiar  circun. stances,  and  then 
besought  him  for  counsel,  if  not  for  help.  Without 
entering  upon  the  subject,  he  rang  the  bell,  and  Mrs. 
Mainwaring  entered.  There  was  no  coldness  in  her 
manner;  she  offered  her  hand  to  Jane,  as  if  she  thought 
heisher  equal,  and  they  had  parted  friends.  The  truth 
washings  nad  mended  in  a  worldly  point  of  view  with 
the  M^;iw  -rings,  since  Jane  left  them.  They  were  no 
longer  in  narrow  circumstances;  they  could  afford  now 
to  pay  for  good  servants,  and  they  had  them.  Mr. 
Mainwaring  held  an  important  position,  not  in  the 
Methodist  connexion  of  a  provincial  town,  but  in  the 
great  national  body:  he  felt  himself  to  be  appreciated. 
Money  had  been  left  them,  which  relieved  them  from 
the  necessities  of  painful  and  rigid  economy.  And  oh, 
how  much,  in  many  cases,  are  our  views  of  life  changed 
and  cheered  by  a  better  income! 

The  Mainwarings  heard  what  Jane  had  to  say,  with 
the  most  friendly  interest,  and  promised  not  only  to 
visit  her  unhappy  sister,  but  to  devise  means  for  her 
comfort.  A  few  moments  suggested  the  plan;  they 
knew  a  good  Methodist  widow  who  took  in  lodgers; 
she  would  receive  her  as  an  inmate,  and  there,  at  least 
during  her  sickness,  she  would  be  cared  for.  They  said, 
moreover,  they  would  endeavour  to  obtain  pecuniary 
help  for  her  from  some  of  the  rich  of  their  congrega- 
tion; that  that  very  evening,  as  he  did  not  preach  again 
that  day,  he  would  visit  her  with  Jane,  and,  in  the 
meantime,  all  should  be  prepared  for  her  reception 
with  the  widow. 

Jane  told  them  of  the  Quaker  family  with  whom  she 
Jved;  said  she  had  a  great  fear  of  the  Quakers  know- 


132  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

ing  of  her  connexion  with  this  unhappy  girl;  fancying, 
because  they  had  so  great  a  horror  of  dancing,  that 
they  would  have  no  forbearance  whatever  towards  an 
unhappy  Magdalene  like  Rachel;  and  that,  if  this  came 
to  their  knowledge,  she  would  probably  lose  her  place, 
which,  under  existing  circumstances,  she  was  most  un- 
willing to  do.  She  entreated,  therefore,  that  for  the 
present  at  least  the  Mainwarings  would  preserve  her 
secret;  and  they,  though  they  did  not  think  quite  as 
rigidly  of  the  Quaker  exactness,  gave  her  the  promise 
she  required. 

When  she  returned  to  her  master's  house,  she  found 
no  one  there,  the  gates  locked,  and  all  still  and  deserted. 
From  Miss  Winton's  maid  she  learned  that  Joseph, 
distressed  and  alarmed  at  her  delayed  return,  had  set 
out  in  the  course  of  the  morning  in  search  of  her.  She 
wondered,  however,  he  was  not  returned. 

Correct  as  the  old  gardener  thought  Jane's  conduct 
generally,  he  could  not  but  agree  with  Mrs.  Evans,  in 
thinking  that  this  picking  up  of  women  in  the  streets, 
who  were  evidently  no  better  than  they  should  be,  a 
very  odd  and  unaccountable  thing.  He  hurried  back, 
therefore,  to  Tottenham,  not  a  little  vexed  with  her 
for  giving  him  the  sleepless,  anxious  night  she  had  done, 
all  on  account  of  a  good-for-nothing  baggage  that  she 
had  picked  up  out  of  the  streets.  It  did  not  matter 
to  Jane,  however  much  the  old  man  scolded;  and  he 
got  quite  angry  even,  when,  in  reply,  she  said  she 
had  done  nothing  but  what  was  right,  and,  more  than 
that,  that  she  should  go  out  again  that  same  evening, 
and  perhaps  even  the  next  too.  She  was  not,  she  said, 
doing  anything  that  was  wrong;  but  only  there  were 
reasons  why  nobody  could  know  anything  of  what  she 
did,  or  where  she  went.  She  was  not  going  to  teh 
anybody,  she  said,  or  she  certainly  would  have  told  him  ■ 
but  that  this  she  must  beseech  of  him,  if  he  had  any 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN   FRUIT.  ]  S3 

regard  for  her,  to  think  nothing  of  what  she  did,  and, 
above  all  things,  to  keep  the  secret  of  her  having  some- 
thing to  conceal  from  all  the  Forster  family,  as  well  as 
from  the  knowledge  of  her  two  fellow-servants. 

Now,  certainly,  this  was  putting  Joseph's  regard  for 
her  to  a  most  severe  test.  He  could  not  help  thinking, 
just  as  Mrs.  Evans  had  done,  that  it  would  only  be  civil 
in  Jane  to  make  a  confidant  of  him — to  tell  him  all,  as 
he  knew  a  part.  He  had  not  any  objection  in  the  world 
to  keep  a  secret  for  her;  and  that  was  what  Mrs.  Evans 
had  s^id;  but  to  be  let  into  a  thing  only  by  halves — to 
be  allowed  only  to  know  as  much  as  she  had  no  power 
to,  keep  from  them — that  was  rather  too  much;  so 
Joseph,  just  as  Mrs.  Evans  had  done  before  him,  felt 
offended,  nodded  his  head,  and  looked  very  cold  and 
stiff,  whilst  poor  Jane,  too  much  wrapped  up  in  her 
own  thoughts,  and  too  much  troubled  and  perplexed  by 
the  whole  affair,  did  not  really  notice  how  much  dis- 
pleased the  old  man  was. 

One  person,  however,  there  was  in  this  affair  who 
stood  by  Jane  heart  and  soul,  and  that  was  James 
Kemp.  His  mother  and  he  quarrelled  about  it;  Joseph 
and  he  quarrelled  about  it.  Jane's  fidelity  to  Mark 
Griffiths  never  certainly  was  in  such  danger  as  at  this 
time.  "  Well,  I  will  say,"  thought  Jane  to  herself,  after 
she  had  paid  her  sister  a  visit  in  her  new  lodgings  at 
the  Methodist  widow's,  "  that  there  never  was  anything 
so  kind  in  this  world  as  James's  coming  all  that  way 
from  Westminster  with  that  nice  fruit  for  poor  Rachel! 
And  was  there  not  a  tear  in  his  eye,  as  Rachel  said,  in 
answer  to  his  remark,  that  he  hoped  she  would  soon  be 
better—'  Life  may  je  pleasant,  young  man,  to  such 
as  you  and  my  sister  Jane;  but  the  sooner  I'm  out  of 
the  world  the  better,  both  for  me  and  those  belonging 
to  me!'  Poor  Rachel!  I'm  sure  there  was  a  tear  in 
James's  eye;  and,  for  mc,  I  thought  my  heart  would 
break." 

N 


184  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT. 

The  cook  and  Ellen  came  back  on  the  Wednesday, 
and  on  the  Thursday  the  whole  Forster  family.  On 
the  next  evening,  not  the  drab-liveried  young  man  who 
had  excited  the  attention  of  all  before,  but  an  equally 
suspicious,  dark-green  suit  of  livery  on  the  person  of  a 
young  man,  was  seen  advancing  through  the  back  gate 
to  the  kitchen-door,  and  having  then  the  audacity  to 
inquire  if  Jane  Ford  was  within.  The  cook  and  Ellen, 
and  even  old  Joseph,  looked  out  of  different  windows 
to  see  the  interview  between  the  two.  There  was  not 
much  to  be  seen;  the  dark-green  livery  besjan  talking 
very  earnestly,  and  then  it  seemed  to  all  as  if  Jane  were 
troubled  at  something;  and  then  the  two  moved  slowly 
on  together  towards  the  back  gate  again,  where  the 
laurel-bushes  hid  them  from  view,  and  stood  talking 
together  a  long  time. 

How  altered  was  Jane's  manner!  how  grave,  how 
silent,  how  sad!  Nobody  asked  her  what  was  amiss 
with  her,  and  she  talked  to  nobody,  and  never  noticed 
how  wonderfully  civil  the  cook  and  Ellen  were  to  old 
Joseph,  nor  even  that  the  old  man,  though  he  was  as 
snappish  to  them  as  ever,  was  no  longer  civil  to  her. 

One  morning,  very  shortly  after  their  return,  Mrs. 
Forster  told  Jane  she  wanted  to  speak  to  her  in  her  own 
room.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  cold  severity  of  Mrs. 
Forster's  manner.  She  said  it  was  with  extreme  pain 
that  thev  had  discovered  that,  during  their  absence 
and  the  "absence  of  her  fellow-servants,  she  had  not 
onlv  been  to  the  play,  but  had  staid  out  the  whole  night. 

Who  could  have  told  this?  Could  it  have  been  Joseph? 
thought  Jane,  but  she  said  nothing;  and  Mrs.  Forster 
continued.  She  spoke  of  the  sin  of  neglect  of  duty; 
of  disobedience  to  masters,  abuse  of  confidence,  evil 
example,  and  then  of  the  shameful  immorality  of  plays, 
players,  and  playhouses— seeming  to  think  the  fre- 
quenters of  such  places,  and  the  sanctioned  of  such 
people,  on  the  broad  way  to  perdition. 


EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FRUIT.  135 

Jane  thought  of  the  sentiment  of  love,  and  the  ability 
of  self-saerihce,  which  had  so  warmed  her  heart  as  she 
witnessed  that  beautiful  play;  but  she  did  not  attempt 
to  argue;  that  would  have  seemed  impertinent,  not  to 
say  presumptuous.  Much  also,  and  not  without  reason, 
had  good  Mrs.  Forster  to  say  on  the  impropriety  of 
stopping  out  through  the  night.  Had  she  known  why 
Jane  had  done  so,  she  would  not  only  have  been  less 
severe,  but  would  have  commended  all  that  she  h.id 
done.  There  is  only  too  little  confidence,  too  little 
open-hearted  communication,  between  mistresses  and 
the'ir  servants! 

A\  as  Jane  not  sorry  for  what  she  had  done?  asked 
Mrs.  Forster.  The  least  she  could  do  was  to  show  a 
sense  of  contrition,  .lane  refused  to  say  she  was  sorry, 
further  than  the  having  displeased  her  mistress;  refused 
to  say  she  would  not  do  so  again,  and  refused  also 
to  give  any  account  of  her  motives  for  this  strange 
conduct. 

"  And  now,  further  than  this,"  continued  Mrs.  For- 
ster, "only  the  last  night,  instead  of  going  to  thy  usual 
place  of  worship,  thou  wast  seen  entering  a  small  house 

in Row,  where  thou  remainedst  two  hours;  the 

same  house  thou  hast  visited  frequently  of  late." 

Jane  cast  her  eves  down,  and  looked  confounded; 
at  length,  said  she,  "  Be  so  good,  Mrs.  Forster,  to  tell 
me  who  has  been  my  accuser." 

"  Dost  thou  deny  it?  Is  any  part  of  this  accusation 
untrue?"  asked  the  Quaker  lady. 

"  No,"  said  Jane,  in  a  low  voice,  "it  is  not  untrue; 
but  1  should  like  to  know  who  has  been  my  accuser — 
who  has  watched  me  thus  narrowly." 

"Ellen's  brother,"  returned  Mrs.  Forster,  "  a  youth 
named  Louis  Bates,  once  a  fellow-servant  of  thine,  has 
been  thy  accuser;  he  saw  thee  at  the  play,  and " 

"Louis  Bates!"   interrupted  Jane,  "  Ob,  Mrs.  For 
•ter,  you  know  not  what  a  wicked  youth  is  that!" 


136  EATING  OF  FORBIDDEN  FKLIT. 

"Thus  thou  seest,"  said  Mrs.  Forster,  "that  by 
entering  a  playhouse  thou  hast,  by  thy  own  showing, 
placed  thyself  in  the  hands  of  wicked  people.  Remem- 
ber, Jane,  they  who  will  eat  of  forbidden  fruit  must 
pay  the  penalty." 

"  And  who  told  the  rest  about  me?"  asked  Jane,  with 
a  deep  sigh. 

"  It  is  enough,"  replied  Mrs.  Forster,  "  that  what  I 
have  heard  is  true.  Wilt  thou  promise  not  to  go  to  the 
house  in Row  again?" 

"  1  cannot  promise,"  said  Jane;  "but, indeed  ma'am, 
for  no  bad  or  disgraceful  purpose  have  I  gone  there. 
The  woman  of  the  house  is  a  decent  Methodist  widow." 

"  Whatever  the  woman  of  the  house  may  be,  Jane," 
replied  Mrs.  Forster,  sternly,  "  persons  of  abandoned 
character  lodge  there." 

The  colour,  which  had  been  fading  from  Jane's  cheeks 
for  some  time,  quite  left  it  now;  she  looked  for  one 
second  as  if  she  would  faint,  and  then,  calling  up  all  her 
energy  of  mind,  said,  "  People  may  say  so;  but  our 
Lord  "himself  did  not  spurn  the  Magdalene  from  before 
him." 

"  Jane,"  said  her  mistress,  hurt  by  what  she  thought 
an  impious  use  of  scripture,  "  thou  had  better  not  apply 
the  sacred  writings  thus.  I  am  sorry  for  thee;  but, 
such  being  thy  present  hardened  state  of  mind,  it  is 
necessary  that  thou  leave  our  family.  Dost  thou  under- 
stand me?"  inquired  she,  as  Jane,  overcome  by  these 
unexpected  words,  looked  quite  confounded  and  be- 
wildered; "dost  thou  understand  v" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  returned  poor  Jane,  "yes,  ma'am,  I 
do  understand;  hut  I  must  say,  I  never  was  so  sorry 
in  all  my  life  before;"  and,  putting  her  apron  to  her 
eyes,  she  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Forster  was  hardly  less  grieved  than  her  maid. 
There  was  something  so  incomprehensible  about  her— 
lo  sincere  and  serious— as  if  so  unwilling  to  give  offence, 


THE    FRIENDS  OP  THE   MAID-SERVANT  TESTED.       137 

and  jet  so  reserved  and  wilful — it  was  past  her  com- 
prehension. She  hoped,  however,  that  Jane  would,  ?? 
she  said,  rome  to  her  senses,  make  the  amende  by  an 
open  confession,  and  thus  be  reinstated  into  the  family's 
favour. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FRIENDS  OF  THE  MAID-SERVANT  TE3TE1». 

Jane,  however,  made  neither  confession  nor  conces- 
sion, buC  went  on  in  her  own  wilful,  reserved  war. 
just  as  before;  requested  to  have  money  advanced  he» 
of  what  was  in  Mr.  Forster's  hands,  for  the  use  of  which 
she  gave  no  reason;  and  the  very  next  Sunday  night 

too,   went  again  to  the   house  in  Row,  whilst. 

during  the  week,  she  had  received  visits  from  unknown 
women  and  girls,  whom  both  the  cook  and  Ellen  d» 
clared  not  to  be  over  and  above  respectable,  and  alto- 
gether seemed  so  altered  from  what  she  was,  tha* 
everybody  thought  something  very  wrong  indeed  mus> 
be  the  cause  of  all  this. 

We  have  not  mentioned  before,  what  should  bi 
mentioned,  however,  that,  amidst  the  sorrows  of  thir 
time,  nothinsr  gave  Jane  greater  comfort  than  to  be 
reunited  with  the  children  of  the  Mainwaiings,  the 
favourite  of  whom  still  remained  to  be  the  gentle 
affectionate  Samuel.  Many  a  time,  as  she  sate  looking 
at  him,  she  thought  to  herself,  '  Surely  our  blessed 
Lord,  as  a  boy,  when  he  worked  at  his  father's  trade, 
and  was  obedient  to  the  bidding  of  his  mother,  grow- 
ing in  favour  both  with  God  and  man,  was  such  as  he." 
Had  poor  Jane  known  the  pictures  of  the  old  masters, 
she  would  have  seen  that  her  feelings  were  founded  in 
truth;  for  they  too  painted  their  youthful  Christs  not 
from  ideals,  but  from  models  such  as  this,  on  which 

m2 


138     THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE   MAID-SERVANT  TESTED. 

the  tenderness  and  beauty  of  a  spiritual  nature  had 
impressed  an  almost  divine  character. 

Everybody's  heart  in  the  house  of  the  Forsters 
seemed  turned  against  Jane,  excepting  that  of  the  faith- 
ful old  Joseph;  and  he,  by  this  time  having  forgiven  her 
want  of  confidence  towards  him,  and  seeing  everybody 
treat  her  with  coldness,  lost  not  an  opportunity  to  do 
her  a  kind  turn  or  to  say  a  kind  word  to  her. 

"  Cheer  up,  Jane,"  he  said  one  day  to  her;  "  it  can't 
be  a  sweetheart,  sure,  that  makes  you  so  moping;  but 
you  needn't  be  afraid — I'll  ask  no  questions;  only  if 
you  want  anybody  to  help  you,  why,  you  know  old 
Joseph  Williams  is  the  man  any  day." 

The  next  day  old  Joseph  looked  merrier  than  he 
had  done  ever  since  these  affairs  fell  out,  because  he 
fancied  he  had  got  a  cure  for  all  her  troubles  in  his 
hand,  in  the  form  of  a  pink  paper  letter,  sealed  with 
blue  wax,  which  had  been  conveyed  to  him  by  the 
young  man  in  dark-green  livery,  whom  Joseph  very 
well  knew  to  be  the  same  who  formerly  wore  the  drab 
suit. 

Poor  old  man  !  with  what  joy  did  he  take  the  first 
opportunity  to  thrust,  in  a  very  mysterious  way,  this 
said  billet  into  her  hand  !  It  was  a  letter  from  James 
Kemp,  written  with  all  that  young  man's  best  skill  in 
penmanship,  and  very  elaborately  indited;  but,  after 
all,  it  was  not  exactly  a  declaration  of  love,  although 
anybody  who  read  it  would  have  thought  it  extremely 
like  one.  The  immediate  purport  of  it,  however,  was 
that  the  maid  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Normacott,  of  Norma- 
cott  Lodge,  Surrey,  was  about  being  married,  and  that 
the  said  Mrs.  Normacott  would  want  another;  there- 
fore he,  the  writer,  advised  her  to  lose  no  time  in 
applying  for  the  situation,  which,  according  to  James, 
was  one  in  ten  thousand. 

Jane  was  better  pleased  with  the  letter  than  if  it  had 
been  a  billet-dou*  written  with  the  best  feather  of 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  MAID-SEHVANT  TESTED.     139 

Cupid's  wing.  She  did  not  wish,  of  all  things,  to  be  out 
of  place,'  especially  with  the  present  demands  upon 
her  little  savings;  so  she  asked  and  obtained  per- 
mission to  go  to  Normacott  Lodge  respecting  the  situa- 
tion, and  returned  therefrom  with  a  hope  of  success, 
provided  Mrs.  Forster  would  give  her  a  satisfactory 
character.  Miss  Peters,  she  said,  a  governess  she 
believed  in  Mrs.  Normacott's  family,  would  come  on 
the  following  day  for  that  purpose. 

We  have  said  nothing  of  poor  Rachel  Ford  all  this 
tirrieriior  how  comfortably  Jane  had  provided  for  her; 
nor  Jiqw  tjiegood  Methodist  preacher  and  his  wife 
vi*ited  her  daily;  and  how  they  had  succeeded  in 
arousing  in  her  hardened  and  hopeless  soul  a  sense  of 
submission,  and  penitence,  and  confidence  in  the  mercy 
and  forgiveness  of  God  —  a  willingness  to  live  or  a  wil- 
lingness to  die,  whichever  might  be  His  all-wise  ordi- 
nation. Medical  advice,  too,  had  been  obtained  for  her, 
but  no  hope  was  given  from  the  first.  She  was  in  a 
galloping  consumption;  and,  in  the  third  week,  a  few 
days  only  were  given  as  the  probable  period  of  her 
life. 

Jano  did  not  see  her  often;  but  the  words  most  fre- 
quently on  the  unhappy  Rachel's  lips  were  blessings 
on  that  sister  who  had  promised,  and  whom  she  con- 
fidently believed,  would  be  a  mother  to  her  unfortunate 
child.  Poor  Rachel !  let  us  say  nothing  of  the  selfish- 
ness of  her  nature,  which,  without  compunction,  de- 
manded so  much  from  a  sister,  and  that  sister  only  a 
poor  servant  girl. 

Miss  Peters  came  to  inquire  Jane's  character.  Mrs. 
Forster  could  say  and  did  say  a  great  deal  in  her 
favour;  but  she  told  also,  with  the  utmost  candour,  the 
causes  Jane  had  given  of  offence — the  play-going,  the 

mysterious  visits  to  the  house  in  Row,  and  of 

a  certain  wilfulness  and  obstinacy  of  late,  which   had 
grieved    her   and   quite    passed   her   comprehension. 


140     THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  MAID-SERVANT  TESTED. 

Miss  Peters  went,  and  Jane  had  fhe  most  serious  fean 
that  she  should  not  obtain  this  situation;  and  that  this 
character  which  Mrs.  Forster  gave  would,  by  the  same 
rule,  prevent  her  obtaining  any  situation.  The  prospect 
was  dark  and  discouraging. 

An  hour  or  two  after  Miss  Peters  was  gone,  Jane 
had  to  open  the  front  door  again  to  another  visitor:  it 
was  the  Rev.  Joshua  Mainwaring.  There  was  a  deep 
seriousness  in  his  countenance,  and  tears  stood  in  his 
eyes.  "  Jane,"  he  said,  "  I  am  just  come  from  your 
sister's — she  is  no  more;  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning 
she  departed."  The  good  man  paused,  wiped  his  eyes, 
and  then  continued,  "  Her  end  was  peace;  and  for  this 
let  us  bless  the  Lord.  My  dear  young  friend,"  con- 
tinued he,  taking  her  hand,  and  wishing  to  soothe  her 
emotion,  "  the  Lord  hath  given  rest  to  a  weary  soul; 
he  hath  been  long-suffering  and  full  of  mercy,  and  has 
not  suffered  her  to  perish  uncared  for  or  unsaved.  You 
have  been  made  the  blessed  instrument  of  his  mercy; 
yes,  my  young  friend,  we  will  praise  him  lor  all  these 
things."" 

Mrs.  Forster,  coming  down  stairs  at  this  moment, 
Jane,  unwilling  to  be  seen  thus  weeping,  disappeared 
in  a  side-room,  leaving  the  preacher  standing  alone 
in  the  hall.  Mrs.  Forster  had  seen  Mr.  Mainwaring 
at  Bible  meetings,  and  knew  his  character  to  be  that 
of  an  able  and  excellent  man;  she  had  also  heard  just 
lately  that  Jane  had  been  seen  at  his  chapel,  and  she 
was  instantly  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
to  him  about  her. 

"  1  hope  thou  art  well,  Friend  Mainwaring,"  said 
she:  "  I  am  pleased  to  see  thee,  and  if  thou  have  the 
time,  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  little  conversation  with 
thee." 

Mr.  Mainwaring  assented  with  pleasure,  and  was 
conducted  up  stairs  again  by  the  lady  to  her  own  room; 
and  then,  without  preamble  of  any  sort,  she  inquired 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  MAID-SERVANT  TESTED.     141 

if  he  were  not  acquainted  with  her  maid-servant,  Jane 
Ford.      - 

Mr.  Mainwaring  was  somewhat  of  an  absent  man, 
and  he  forgot  at  this  moment  Jane's  strict  injunction, 
that  the  Quaker  family  should  know  nothing:  of  her 
unfortunate  sister;  and,  besides  this,  Mrs.  Forster's 
question  threw  him  suddenly  off  his  guard :  so  all  at  once 
he  began  to  tell  how  he  had  even  then  brought  the 
news  of  the  death  of  that  servant's  unfortunate  sister. 
Mrs.  Forster  looked  astonished,  saying-,  she  knew  not 
thajjarre  rfad  a  sister  in  London,  much  less  one  ill; 
and  in  reply. the  good  preacher  gave  the  whole  history 
— how  she  had  rescued  her  from  the  streets,  provided  a 
home  for  her,  besought  his  pastoral  care  for  her,  visited 
her,  and  even  now  was  burdened  with  the  care  of  that 
unfortunate  sister's  child.  Mr,  Mainwaring,  whose 
nature  warmed  up  at  the  contemplation  of  virtue — 
especially  of  virtue  which  demanded  self-sacrifice — grew 
eloquent  as  he  told  this,  and  aided  his  eloquence  by  his 
tears.     Mrs.  Forster  wept  too. 

Jane  rose  higher  in  the  good  Quakeress's  esteem  than 
she  had  ever  been  before;  and,  no  sooner  was  Mr.  Main- 
waring  gone  than  she  called  Jane  before  her,  sent  for 
her  daughters  into  the  room,  and  told  them,  in  the 
poor  girl's  presence,  what  she  had  just  learned.  It  was 
too  much  for  Jane:  she  had  thought  Mrs.  Forster  an 
angel  from  heaven  at  first;  now  she  wished  she  mi?ht 
kneel  down  and  kiss  the  dust  of  her  feet:  but  that 
would  not  do;  so  Jane  said  very  little,  and  her  silence 
was  as  eloquent  as  words. 

The  next  act  of  Mrs.  Forster's  was  to  open  herwriting- 
desk,  and  indite  a  letter  to  Miss  Peters,  giving  a  hasty 
outline  of  what  she  had  discovered;  which  was,  she 
said,  no  more  than  bare  justice  to  the  character  of  a 
•ervant  girl.  That  same  evening  also,  Mr.  Mainwar- 
ing received  a  letter,  signed  A.B.,  enclosing  a  51.  nil!, 


142     THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  MAID-SF.RV ANT  TESTED. 

to  be  applied,  the  letter  said,  to  the  interment  of  the 
late  Rachel  Ford,  and  to  defray  the  present  necessary 
expenses  of  providing  for  the  child. 

"  It  can  be  from  nobody  but  that  good  Quakeress," 
said  the  preacher  to  his  wife;  '-so,  don't  blame  me  for 
betraying  Jane's  confidence.  I  don't  think  it  will  turn 
out  in  the  end  that  I  have  done  wrong  in  any  way." 

Mrs.  Forster,  a  most  conscientious  member  of  a  con- 
scientious people,  knew  when  she  wrote  to  Mrs.  Nor- 
macott  that  she  would  lose,  by  this  means,  an  excellent 
servant,  and  one  which,  since  these  late  events  had  come 
to  her  knowledge,  she  esteemed,  nay,  almost  loved;  but 
what  of  that?  She  looked  at  the  broad  question  of 
justice  between  man  and  man,  and  spoke  of  her  maid- 
servant as  her  heart,  not  her  interest  dictated;  and  Mrs. 
Normacott  having  read  the  letter,  instantly  desired 
Miss  Peters  to  reply  to  it,  by  requesting  Jane  Ford  to 
come  over  to  Normacott  Lodge;  adding  that,  had  she 
been  Mrs.  Forster,  she  would  not  so  willingly  have 
given  up  a  servant  of  such  extraordinary  worth. 

Jane  took  thestage  to  Normacott  Lod^e.and  returned 
in  the  evening,  the  hired  maid  of  Mrs.  Normacott,  upon 
whose  service  she  was  to  enter  the  next  week. 

The  Forsters  blamed  Jane  for  nothing  but  her  want 
of  confidence  in  them ;  and  their  kindness  and  consider- 
ation to  her  to  the  last  moment  were  unabating.  Jane 
suspected  that  the  bl.  received  by  Mr.  Mainwaring  on 
behalf  of  her  sister  and  the  child,  was  sent  by  Mrs. 
Forster,  and  this  redoubled  her  gratitude.  The  Main- 
warings  and  the  Forsters  consulted  together  what  was 
best  to  be  done  respecting  the  child,  and  all  came  to 
the  agreement  that  Jane  must  consider  it  as  left  to  her 
general  care,  assuring  her  that  friends  would  be  found 
to  assist  her;  that  the  Methodist  widow  would  take 
charge  of  it  for  the  present;  and  that,  when  it  grew  older, 
there  were  orphan  schools,  and  many  benevolent  insti- 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  MAID-SERVANT  TESTED.      148 

tutions,  in  which  Mrs.  Forster  and  many  a  rich  Metho- 
dist lady  had  interest,  where  it  might  be  educated,  and 
afterwards  provided  for. 

All  this  was  a  relief  beyond  words;  yet  the  poor  girl 
never  knew  what  anxiety  and  responsibility  was  till 
then. 

Jane  bought  for  herself  neat,  unexpensive  mourning, 
and,  in  company  with  the  Methodist  widow  and  old 
Joseph,  followed  the  remains  of  her  sister  to  the  grave 
the, following  Sunday. 

J.  -ne  hacfnot  seen  Mrs.  Evans  now  for  several  weeks; 
and  laroes^fewving  left  London  with  his  master  fur  his 
coHntry  seat,  on  the  prorogation  of  parliament,  all 
intercourse  between  her  and  the  tailor's  family  seemed 
at  an  end.  It  was  but  right,  however,  she  thought,  to 
call  on  Mrs.  Evans,  unci  tell  her  the  changes  in  her 
prospects,  at  the  same  time  that  she  determined  still 
to  keep  from  her  the  knowledge  of  her  relationship  to 
poor  Rachel.  On  Mrs.  Evans,  therefore,  she  called; 
but  Mrs.  Evans  was  colder  and  stitf^r  than  ever. 

"  A  mighty  civil  thin<r  this  of  you  to  call  on  me,'' 
said  she,  "  now  you  have  got  so  many  new  friends, 
Methodists  and  all  that." 

Jane  said,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  Providence  had 
brought  her  in  Mr.  Mainwaring's  way  just  at  the  time 
when  she  wanted  such  a  counsellor.  Mrs.  Evans,  she 
said,  never  could  know  how  much  reason  she  had  to 
thank  Mr.  Mainwaring 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Evans,  "  nor  do  I  want  to  know; 
and  yet,  after  all,  I  maybe  know  more  than  you  think 
for:  perhaps  you  suppose  I  saw  no  family  likeness 
between  you  and  the  young  woman  you  picked  up  in 
the  streets.  I  never  could  have  thought,  Jane  Ford, 
that  vou  had  disreputable  connexions  like  that;  and  I 
should  be  mighty  sorry  for  my  Jemmy  to  connect  him- 
telf  with  you;  and  so  1  tell  you,  point-blank  and  plain, 


144    THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  MAID-SERVANT  TESTED. 

and  thus  you  need  not  say  that  I  have  ever  deceived 
you!" 

"  Oh  dear ! "  said  Jane,  "  whatever  does  all  this 
mean  ?  I  am  sure  it  is  very  unkind." 

"Unkind!"  repeated  Mrs.  Evans,  in  a  cool  rather 
than  angry  manner,  "  No,  Jane  Ford,  it's  honest;  that's 
what  it  is!  You  haven't  treated  me  like  a  friend; 
never  could  let  me  into  any  secret  of  yours — never 
gave  me  credit  for  any  regard  to  you,  though  I  have 
treated  you  more  like  a  daughter  than  anything  else; 
couldn't  tell  me  it  was  your  sister  that  you'd  got  there, 
yet  could  make  no  secret  of  it  to  Mrs.  Gillman,  in 

Row.     No,  Jane,"  continued  she,  in  the  tone  of 

a  much-injured  person,  "you've  no  right  to  complain; 
people  must  look  to  be  treated  as  they've  treated 
others.  I've  done  a  deal  for  you.  What,  I  should  like 
to  know,  would  have  become  of  you,  if  it  hadn't  have 
been  for  me,  when  you  left  the  Tremaines?" 

"  I  think  God  would  not  have  left  me  friendless," 
returned  Jane. 

"  You  might  have  been  on  the  streets,  like  your 
sister,"  continued  Mrs.  Evans,  "  if  it  had  not  have 
been  for  me;  yet  you  never  think  of  that — oh,  no ! 
But  this  is  true,  I'll  never  volunteer  my  kindness  again 
as  long  as  I  live ! " 

"  Mrs.  Evans,"  replied  Jane,  deeply  wounded  by  the 
spirit  of  this  speech,  "  I'll  never  deny  that  you  have 
been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  wished  to  have  remained 
friends  with  you;  but  if  you  will  be  affronted  in  this 

way — " 

"  Tread  on  a  worm  and  it  will  turn,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Evans;  "and  I'm  flesh  and  blood,  Jane  Ford. 
And  another  thing  I'll  tell  you — I've  seen  many  little 
things  I  didn't  like:  there  was  that  time-piece — " 

"  Mrs.  Evans !"  interrupted  Jane,  now  bitterly  angry. 
"every  word  that  I  said  about  that  time-piece  was 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  M  AID-SKIIV  A  NT  TESTED.      145 

honestly  true.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Forster  both  believe  it, 
and,  if  a  letter  will  reach  Mrs.  Tremaine  anywhere, 
I'll  make  her  say  so.  And  it's  very  unkind  of  you  to 
begin  on  that  subject — that  it  is!"  said  Jane. 

"  Well,  it's  no  use  talking,"  remarked  Mrs.  Evans; 
"  but  yet  one  thina:  I  must  tell  you :  I've  given  Jemmy 
his  discharge  if  he's  anything  to  do  with  you.  Jemmy's 
young  and  good-looking,  and  plenty  will  be  ready  to 
jump  at  him." 

.  ■>"  Good  bye,  Mrs.  Evans,"  said  Jane,  advancing 
towards  trie  door.  "  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for 
all  ytw  kindness  to  me;  but  I  wish  you'd  waited  for 
softie  real  offence  before  you  had  taken  it." 

"  Good  bye,"  returned  Mrs.  Evans,  coldly,  and  with 
her  back  turned  towards  Jane;  and  yet,  scarcely  was 
she  out  of  the  door  when  she  was  vexed  with  herself, 
both  for  what  she  had  said  and  done.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  have  gone  so  far;  I've  half  a  mind  to  call  her 
back,"  said  she,  looking  through  the  window  after  her; 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  she  noticed  that  she  was  in 
black.  "  Dear  me  !"  said  she,  "  why,  her  sister  must  be 
dead,  then  :  well,  I'm  more  vexed  now  than  ever!  And 
what  a  pretty  neat  figure  she  is  !  And  yet,"  added  Mrs. 
Evans,  by  way  of  palliative  to  her  own  feelings,  "she 
has  not  behaved  well  to  me — that  she  hasn't;  she's  so 
uncommon  close." 

It  was  a  painful  thing  to  Jane  also  to  have  this  part- 
ing with  Mrs.  Evans,  and  she  could  not  help  crying  as 
she  went  back,  for  the  last  day,  to  Tottenham;  nor 
could  she  resist  a  sort  of  uneasy  curiosity  as  to  how 
James  felt  towards  her.  She  would  be  sorry  to  lose 
his  regard,  his  friendship,  nay,  almost  his  love;  and 
yet,  with  such  a  mother,  even  if  Mark  Griffiths  were 
out  of  the  way,  how  could  she  ever  think  of  marrying 
him? 

The  cook  and  Ellen,  ever  since  it  was  known  that 
Jauo  wns  going,  had  become  particularly  kind  to  her, 

0 


14G  Tnn  friends  of  thk  maid-servant  tested. 

whilst  old  Joseph,  unlike  Mrs.  Evans,  had  forgotten 
and  forgiven  the  want  of  confidence  towards  him,  and 
treated  her,  poor  old  man,  as  if  he  had  no  one  care  in 
this  world  but  how  to  show  his  respect  and  admiration 
of  her.  He  said  no  longer  that,  if  he  were  a  young 
man,  it  would  be  hard  to  choose  between  her  and  the 
Miss  Wintons'  maid;  but  he  said,  and  he  felt  sure  too, 
that  if  he  was  a  young  man  he  would  try  to  get  her 
for  a  wife,  as  sure  as  ever  he  was  born;  but,  as  he  was 
not  young,  he  would  do  the  next  good  thing — he  would 
recommend  her  a  husband,  and  that  was  James  Kemp, 
who  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  who  even  now,  he  said, 
was  saving  money,  he  knew,  for  her  sake.  But  he  wasn't 
going  to  blab — oh  no !  though  he  might  know  some- 
thing of  James's  mind. 

Poor  old  Joseph  !  the  day  that  Jane  went  he  looked 
perfectly  woe-begone.  "  And  now,  fare  thee  well,  Jane," 
said  he — for,  from  living  so  long  with  the  Quakers,  he 
had  learned  to  talk  like  them:  "fare  thee  well!"  said 
he,  as  he  went  with  her  to  the  stage  which  took  her 
to  Normacott  Lodge,  "  and  don't  think  that  thou  made 
a  bad  day's  work  of  it  when  thou  first  saw  old  Joseph 
Williams.  Fare  thee  well,  Jane ;  and  I  wish  thee 
luck— that  I  do,  with  all  my  heart !" 

Jane  was  quite  affected,  and  the  sight  of  her  tears 
made  the  old  man's  heart  warmer  and  sadder  than 
before. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Forster,  the  evening  of 
that  same  day,  "can  I  have  a  bit  of  talk  with  you?" 
The  request  was  granted.  "  I've  a  mind,  sir,  to  make 
my  will,"  said  Joseph. 

"  That  is  all  right,"  replied  Mr.  Forster,  "  and  what 
our  society  enjoins  upon  its  members  as  an  imperative 
duty.     I  have  urged  thee  often  to  make  thy  will." 

"Maybe,  sir,  you've  pen  and  paper  at  hand?"  said 
Joseph,  "  and  would  be  so  good,  sir,  to  write  down 
-what  1  wish."  The  good  Quaker  placed  pen  and  paper 


THE  FRIENDS  OF  THE   MAID-SERVANT  TESTED.     147 

before  him,  and  said,  "  Thou  hast  relations,  Joseph-  I 
think?"  • 

"  Two  nephews,"  returned  he;  "  but  neither  want 
help  from  me :  the  one  is  a  hatter,  in  good  business;  the 
other  has  married  a  rich  wife." 

"  Thou  hast  three  hundred  and  seventy  pounds, 
on  good  security,"  said  the  Friend,  "  and  seven-and- 
twenty  pounds  in  my  hand,  at  5  per  cent,  interest;  all 
which  money,  Joseph,  thou  hast  honestly  and  honour- 
ably accumulated  :  it  is  a  nice  little  sum,  and,  if  a  bless- 
ing jroes  with  money,  it  will  surely  go  with  this,  for 
tlmu.hagt  been  a  faithful  servant  for  many  years." 

Joseph  wiped  his  eyes,  and  said  that  he  was  greatly 
obiiiied  to  his  master;  he  hoped  his  money  would  do 
good,  and  take  a  blessing  with  it,  where  he  meant  to 
leave  it." 

Mr.  Forster  took  the  pen  in  his  hand,  and  waited 
for  instructions.  "  You  know,  sir,  what's  right  to  say 
in  such  matters;  but  I  wish  all  to  be  made  fast  and 
sure,"  said  Joseph— "fast  and  sure, sir,  so  as  there  can 
be  no  dispute  after  I'm  dead  and  gone.  And  now,  be  so 
good  as  to  write  down  that  I  leave  all  that  Fin  worth, 
after  the  expenses  of  my  funeral  are  paid — and  Fd 
have  that  cheaply  done — to  my  late  respected,  and,  I 
may  say,  beloved,  fellow-servant,  Jane  Ford." 

What  made  old  Joseph  fall  a-crying  then,  there  is 
no  knowing;  but  so  he  did,  and  Mr.  Forster  himself 
wiped  his  eyes. 

"She  is  an  excellent  young  woman,  Joseph,"  said 
he;  "and,  seeing  that  thy  relations  do  not  need  thy 
help,  thou  hast  not  done  amiss  in  leaving  thy  money 
to  her;  but  we  will  hope,  Joseph,  that  it  will  be  many 
years  before  she  has  the  benefit  of  thy  will.  If,  in  the 
meantime,  thou  wishest  any  fresh  disposition  of  thy 
property,  it  can  easily  be  done." 

"  That  I  shall  not,  sir,"  returned  the  old  man;  "bnt 
be  so  good  to  get  it  drawn  out  on  a  regular  stamp,  an/< 


148  THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS. 

then  I'll  sign  it  before  proper  witnesses.     It  will  make 
my  mind  a  deal  easier  when  all  is  done." 
"  It  shall  be  done,  Joseph,"  said  his  master. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS. 

Mrs.  Normacott  was  a  gentlewoman  of  the  old  school: 
she  wore  large  laced  caps,  and  stiff  silk  gowns,  and  was 
very  precise  and  exact  in  everything.  All  her  domestic 
arrangements  went  on  like  clock-work;  her  servants, 
old,  steady,  and  respectable,  knew  the  routine  of  their 
duties  to  the  letter;  nothing  varying  in  its  course  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end.  Mrs.  Normacott  visited  very 
little,  though  once  or  twice  in  the  season  she  might  be 
seen,  like  a  stately  piece  of  old-fashioned  life,  in  the 
splendid  London  drawing-room  of  her  fashionable 
daughter,  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Grafton — that  is  to  say.  when 
Mrs.  Grafton  was  in  London;  for  the  last  several  years 
she  had  been  in  Italy,  whence,  however,  she  was  now 
expected  in  a  few  weeks.  Mrs.  Normacott  was  old, 
and  her  mind,  never  of  a  very  strong  character,  was  now 
one  of  those  which  took  impressions  from  the  objects 
nearest  to  it — meaning  well,  and  conscientious  by  prin- 
ciple, though  vascillating  almost  as  the  wind.  All, 
however,  was  kept  right  and  straight  by  Miss  Peters, 
an  excellent  noble-minded  lady,  who  lived  with  Mrs. 
Normacott,  partly  as  a  companion  to  her,  and  partly 
as  superintending  governess  of  the  young  Therese 
Normacott,  the  old  lady's  grandchild  —  her  only  grand- 
child, for  Mrs.  Grafton  had  no  family,  and  this  was  the 
daughter  of  her  son  and  favourite  child,  who,  with  his 
wife,  died  in  India,  leaving  this  one  dear  creature  to 
the  care  of  his  mother.  Therese  Normacott  was  nine 
years  old,  and  beaut'ful  as  an  angel.     Her  portrait  was 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY's  PLOTS.  149 

known  as  one  of  the  most  celebrated  among-  those  of 
the  children  of  the  nobility.  She  had  been  modelled  in 
clay,  she  had  been  chiselled  in  marble,  and  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  pictures  modern  painter  ever  drew,  was 
one  of  Mrs.  Normacott  and  her  grandchild.  All  the 
picture-loving  world  had  stood  wondering  before  it,  as 
it  hung-  in  the  exhibition;  and  from  that  day  the  fortu- 
nate painter  found  his  fame  and  his  success  established. 
"In  mourning'!  "said  Mrs.  Normacott  to  Jane,  byway 
of  salutation,  the  first  moment  she  saw  her:  "you  must 
not-v^ear  mourning-  in  my  service;  it  would  make  me 
quite-huy-s.pM'fted.  Chang-e  your  dress,  and  then  1  will 
spe*ak  further  with  you." 

Poor  Jane! — and  that  mourning,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
money  it  had  cost,  was  consecrated  to  her  heart  by  sad 
affliction — it  was  very  mortifying-;  but  she  changed  her 
dress,  and  then  presented  herself  again.  Mrs.  Norma- 
cott was  pleased  with  her  altered  appearance,  and 
began  to  talk  with  her  of  her  more  important  duties, 
one  of  which  would  be  the  getting  up  of  the  old  lady's 
handsome  lace,  and  the  making  up  of  her  old-fashioned 
caps,  which  were  invariably  made  after  one  model,  and 
that  not  a  difficult  one,  although  requiring  great  exact- 
ness. Jane,  as  we  know,  was  clever  with  her  needle, 
and,  havinir  a  good  deal  of  her  mother's  millinery  talent, 
felt  sure  that  she  should  give  satisfaction  in  this  respect 
at  least. 

Mrs.  Normacott  talked  with  Jane  as  any  old  gentle- 
woman, willing  to  be  gracious,  might  talk  to  her  maid; 
but  one  thing  seemed  odd — she  addressed  her  by  the 
name  of  Moore. 

"  Ford  is  my  name,  if  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  Jane. 

"  I  never  trouble  myself,"  returned  Mrs.  Normacott, 
"with  the  names  of  my  maids:  I  have  never  had  but 
one  name  for  them  these  forty  years.  One  name  is 
•ust  as  good  as  another  to  a  servant." 

"Yes  sure,  ma'am,"  said  Jaie,  with  great  humility; 
o2 


150  THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY's  PLOTS. 

thinking,nevertheless,thatifMrs.Normacott  had  chosen 
to  call  her  Hig^ins,  she  should  not  have  thought  so. 

No  sooner  was  Jane  come  to  Nonnacott  Lodge 
than  she  heard  the  return  of  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Grafton 
from  Italy,  talked  of.  Her  great  house  in  Portland 
Place  was  prepared  for  her,  and  much  was  told  of  het 
beauty,  of  her  wonderful  talents,  and  the  splendid 
soirees  she  gave,  at  which  the  witty,  the  wise,  and  the 
wealthy,  say  nothing  of  the  lions  of  the  time,  whatever 
they  might  be,  were  found.  Mrs.  Grafton,  a  munifi- 
cent patron  of  the  arts,  wrote  poetry,  and  plays,  and 
novels;  translated  from  the  French,  German,  and 
Italian;  painted  in  oil,  and  modelled  in  wax  and  clay 
Books  without  end  were  dedicated  to  her;  presentation 
copies  crowded  her  tables;  and,  wherever  she  came 
or  wherever  she  went,  a  crowd  of  admirers  and  depend 
ants  followed  her. 

Mrs.  Grafton,  in  her  way,  was  undoubtedly  a  very 
great  lady;  and  a  great  lady,  in  another  way,  came 
with  her,  and  that  was  Mrs.  Casey,  her  woman.  Mrs. 
Casey  was  no  favourite  with  the  quiet  old  domestics 
of  Normacott  Lodge,  and  from  them  Jane  heard  much. 
Mrs.  Casey,  they  said,  was  ten  times  harder  to  please 
than  Mrs."  Grafton,  ten  times  prouder,  and  thought 
ten  times  more  of  herself.  She  had  lived  in  Mrs. 
Grafton's  service  many  years,  had  travelled  with  her, 
and  had  acquired  great  influence  with  her;  she  was 
supposed  to  be  the  depository  of  some  weighty  secrets, 
and,  it  was  said,  made  a  handsome  thing  of  the  bribes 
people  of  all  kinds  put  into  her  hands  for  admittance 
to  the  great  lady.  That  was  the  on-dit  of  the  servants' 
hall;  but,  as  it' has  no  higher  authority,  we  do  not 
vouch  for  its  truth. 

That  Mrs.  Casey,  however,  had  influence  with  her 
lady  was  an  unquestioned  fact;  and  many  things 
through  her  agency  had  been  brought  about,  which 
perhaps,  strictly  speaking,  had  been  far  better  uhac- 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS.  151 

comj>Hs'ied.  Not  only  had  she,  in  the  first  instance, 
gained  this  ascendancy  with  her  mistress,  and  then 
maintained  it  through  many  years,  but  some  little  of 
the  same  ascendancy  had  she  also  over  Mrs.  Normacott 
herself,  although  that  old  lady  had  sometimes  been 
known  to  say,  that  she  would  be  sorry  to  have  a 
person  so  much  a  woman  of  the  world  about  her  as 
was  Mrs.  Casey;  but  that  really,  after  all,  she  was  a 
wonderful  creature,  and  just  suited  for  Mrs.  Grafton's 
service;  and  yet,  clever  as  Casey  was,  she  could  neither 
read-iior  write.  Well,  that  only  proved,  the  old  lady 
would  .assert,  that  reading  and  writing  were  not  at  all 
necessary  for  the  making  of  clever  servants:  and  for 
that  very  reason  she  never  had  much  notion  of  taking 
that  niece  of  Casey's  into  her  own  service,  on  whose 
education,  her  daughter  informed  her,  by  way  of  recom- 
mendation, Casey  had  spent  so  much  money. 

This  little  hint  may  explain,  that  Mrs.  Casey  had 
been  educating  a  young  person  she  called  her  niece, 
as  lady's  maid,  with  an  especial  eye  to  the  service  of 
Mrs.  Normacott.  She  had  learnt  French,  hair-dress- 
ing, and  millinery  in  Paris;  had  lived  with  a  Lady 
Somebody  twelve  months  in  Florence,  and  was  now 
returning,  in  Mrs.  Grafton's  train  of  servants,  to  Eng- 
land, being  intended  by  Mrs.  Casey  to  supply  the  place 
of  the  lately-married  servant  at  Normacott  Lodge. 
Mrs.  Grafton  herself,  at  the  request  of  her  woman,  had 
even  written  to  her  mother  on  the  subject;  but  Mrs. 
Casey  had.  unknown  to  herself,  a  non-admirer  in  the 
person  of  Miss  Peters,  who,  aware  of  that  crafty  indi- 
vidual's true  character,  determined,  if  possible,  to  keep 
any  connexion  of  hers  out  of  the  family,  and  especially 
from  about  the  person  of  the  old  lady  herself.  She 
had  been  strenuous,  therefore,  on  behalf  of  Jane  Ford; 
and,  having  now  watched  her  narrowly  for  the  few  weeks 
she  had  lived  in  the  family,  had  become,  though  un- 
known to  Jane  herself,  her  warm  and  determined  friend. 


152  THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Grafton  to  her  mother,  at 
one  of  their  first  interviews,  "that  you  cannot  offer 
poor  Casey's  niece  this  situation:  she  is  a  clever  girl, 
with  the  nicest  manners  I  ever  saw  in  one  of  her  sta- 
tion, and  excellently  well  educated." 

"  Too  high  for  her  station,"  said  Mrs.  Normacott. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  returned  her  daughter;  "  she 
is  a  nice,  modest,  unpretending  girl,  and  her  skill  in 
millinery  is  wonderful.  Poor  Casey!  it  has  been  the 
wish  of  her  heart  for  years  that  Henrietta  should  live 
with  you.  She  has  ten  times  the  style  of  your  present 
maid,  and  would  any  time,  when  Miss  Peters  is  other- 
wise engaged,  read  you  either  French  or  English 
admirably  :  I  wish  you  would  let  her  read  some  scenes 
from  Racine  to  you  some  morning." 

Poor  Mrs.  Normacott  began  to  think,  perhaps,  after 
all,  Henrietta  Casey  would  have  suited  her  better  than 
her  present  nuid,  quiet,  and  neat,  and  respectful  as  she 
was:  she  almost  wished  Miss  Peters  had  not  hurried 
her  decision  so  much. 

At  the  mention  of  Racine's  plays,  Mrs.  Grafton 
suddenly  recollected  what  she  wanted  to  say  to  her 
mother  about  a  packet  of  new  English  books  which 
she  had  sent  her.  Mrs.  Normacott,  although  she  did 
not  read  much  herself,  heard  a  great  deal  of  reading, 
especially  of  poetry,  which  had  always  been  a  passion 
with  her.  Her  daughter  sent  her  much  of  the  new 
poetry  that  was  published,  and  especially  all  that  was 
dedicated  to  herself,  or  when  she  was  interested  in  the 
authors. 

"Oh,  here  it  is!"  said  Mrs.  Grafton,  selecting  an 
unpretending  volume  from  among  a  mass  of  others; 
"  this  is  the  book  I  want  you  to  particularly  admire;  its 
author  is  young  and  poor,  singularly  good-looking,  and 
one  of  the  most  high-minded  young  men  I  ever  met 
witn.  He  has  related  his  whole  life  to  me;  and  I  de- 
clare to  you,  I  never  felt  so  humble  before  an  individual, 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS.  153 

yet  so  proud  of  our  common  human  nature,  or  so  con- 
scious of  the  dignity  and  beauty  of  the  human  spirit,  as 
I  did  in  hearing  this  poor  man  relate  his  experiences, 
his  sufferings,  and  his  aspirations.  God!  what  are  we 
rich,  we  well-educated,  luxuriously-living  rich  people 
in  comparison  of  a  poor  man  like  this,  w  ho  has  suffered 
poverty  and  hunger,  and,  what  is  more  galling  even  than 
these,  the  scorn  and  neglect  of  the  ignorant  and  the 

Croud,  and  yet  has  maintained  his  faith  in  the  good, 
is  love  of  the  pure  and  beautiful — a  hoping,  trusting, 
cheerful -spUit,  spite  of  all  these  things!  I  would  you 
couM  hear  him  tell,"  continued  Mrs.  Grafton,  with 
alrn/j^t  reafrul  enthusiasm,  "  of  his  wanderings  on  the 
continent!  Oliver  Goldsmith's  were  nothing  to  them. 
Read  his  Sonnets  in  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  his  Hymn  to 
the  Genius  of  the  Middle  Ages,  another  poem  of  his, 
called  Poverty  and  Genius — it  is  one  of  the  noblest 
poems  in  the  language:  and  then, a  Night  Scene  in  an 
Hospital  at  Ghent;  and  besides  these,  a  set  of  little 
poems,  twelve  in  number,  called  the  Joys  and  Sorrows 
of  Life — little  gems  these,  and  the  first  of  his  poems  I 
ever  read;  they  were  published  in  a  newspaper.  These 
are  the  poems,"  said  Mrs.  Grafton,  putting  the  volume 
into  her  mother's  hand,  "  which  I  particularly  call  your 
attention  to,  though  the  whole  will  please  you." 

Mrs.  Normacott  turned  to  the  title-page,  and  read, 
'  Poems,  by  Juhn  Ford.'  "  A  very  unpretending  title- 
page,"  said  she. 

"  Ford  is  a  good  name,"  returned  her  daughter. 
**  Ford  and  Massinger,  you  know." 

'«  Miss  Peters  shall  read  them  to  me,"  said  the  old 
lady;  "  but  you  must  let  me  see  this  protege  of  yours." 

"  He  often  comes  to  me," said  Mrs.  Grafton:  "great 
poet  as  he  is,  I  want  to  find  something  more  certain 
than  poetry  for  him  to  depend  upon.  I  have  intro- 
duced hiin  to ,  and ,  and ;  but,  bless  me, 

poets  and  authors  are  so  jealous  of  one  anotherl  1  want 


154  THE  BEGINNING   OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS. 

to  get  some  place  for  him;  I  have  spoken  to  Sir  ■ 
and  Lord ,  and  hope  I  may  succeed." 

At  that  very  moment  Jane  Ford,  unaware  of  Mrs. 
Grafton  being1  with  her  mistress,  entered  with  a  cap  in 
her  hand,  which  she  had  been  ordered  to  make  up  and 
bring1  in  as  soon  as  ready. 

"It  is  of  no  consequence,"  said  the  sweet  voice  of 
Mrs.  Grafton,  as  Jane  apologized,  and  was  quietly 
retiring;  "let  me  look  at  that  cap."  She  turned  it 
round,  and  thought  that  even  Henrietta  Casey  could 
not  have  done  it  better;  she  said,  therefore,  it  was 
remarkably  well  done;  and  when  she  had  left  the  room, 
she  observed  to  her  mother,  that  she  really  was  a 
pleasing-looking  girl,  and  had  something  quite  superior 
in  her  manner.     Who  was  she? 

Mrs.  Normacott,  who  had  a  wonderfully  short  me- 
mory, could  tell  nothing  about  that — Miss  Peters,  how- 
ever, knew;  but,  as  it  was  not  of  sufficient  importance 
to  send  for  Miss  Peters  about,  no  more  was  said.  Mrs. 
Grafton  had  no  interest  in  her,  farther  than  as  the  rival 
of  Henrietta  Casey;  and  seeing  her  thus,  thought  Mrs. 
Casey's  best  way  would  be  to  look  out  for  another 
situation  for  her  niece.  She  told  her  so,  therefore,  that 
evening;  but  Mrs.  Casey.though  she  seemed  acquiescent 
at  the  time,  had  made  up  her  mind  that  Henrietta 
should  live  at  Normacott  Lodge,  or  nowhere.  A 
few  months  sooner  or  later,  she  said  to  herself,  did  not 
matter;  she  could  afford  to  keep  Henrietta  out  of  place 
to  wait  for  a  situation  like  this;  and,  in  the  meantime, 
she  had  greatly  over-estimated  her  own  abilities  if  she 
could  not  out-general  them  all. 

Nobody,  therefore,  could  be  blander  to  all  parties 
than  was  Mrs.  Casey.  She  made  acquaintance  in  the 
most  friendly  manner  with  the  unsuspecting  Jane  Ford; 
learnt  where  she  had  lived,  who  were  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  who  had  been  her  fellow-servants,  and  then 
quietly  lay  by  till  the  engines  she  set  to  work  produced 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS.  155 

her  some  material  on  which  to  act;  and  thus  months 
went  on.    • 

Jane  sate  one  day  behind  the  screen  in  Mrs.  Nor- 
macott's  dressing-room,  making-  up  a  very  handsome 
lace  cap  for  an  approaching-  evening  which  she  was  to 
spend  at  her  daughter's.  The  lovely  young  Therese 
Normacott  was  threading  beads  tor  her  amusement  at 
a  little  table  near  her  grandmother,  and  Miss  Peters 
had  just  taken  her  seat  for  an  hour's  reading  to  the  old 
lady;  "  No,  not  that  volume  of  Bulwer's,"  said  Mrs. 
Normacott,  seeing  Miss  Peters  take  up  one  which  they 
had  left  half  finished  on  the  day  before;  "as  I  am  so 
60oato  moot  Bella's  protege,  her  favourite  poor  poet, 
you  must  read  me  something  of  his.  I  must  talk  to 
him,  of  course,  about  his  own  poetry,  and  I  want  my 
memory  refreshing:." 

"  I  will  read  you  my  favourites,"  said  Miss  Peters, 
rising  for  the  volume;  "that  string  of  real  diamonds, 
called  the  Joys  and  Sorrows  of  Life." 

Jane,  who  sate  behind  the  screen,  never,  as  we  know, 
was  much  of  a  reader  herself;  she  knew  very  little 
about  books, ancient  or  modern:  but  since  she  had  lived 
in  the  present  situation,  a  new  source  of  delight  had 
opened  to  her  in  the  listening  to  these  morning  read- 
ings, at  which,  whenever  they  took  place  in  the  dress- 
ing-room, she,  though  unseen,  was  mostlv  present. 
She  had  ventured,  too,  encouraged  by  the  general  affa- 
bility and  kindness  of  Miss  Peters,  to  speak  to  her  some- 
times of  what  was  read,  and  this  excellent  woman  was 
this  very  day  curious  to  know  what  effect  this  poetry 
of  a  poor  man — one  of  her  own  class — would  produce 
upon  her.  She  selected,  therefore,  these  very  poems, 
her  own  favourites,  in  which  the  experience  of  an  indi- 
vidual was  made  to  tell  so  exquisitely  and  t nil  hlnl I  v  upon 
the  broad  principles  of  human  nature.  Jane  listened 
with  an  interest  more  intense  by  far  than  Mrs.  Nor- 
nacott,  to  those  beautiful  poems,  so  feelingly  read. 


166     THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEV  S  PLOTS. 

How  was  it  ?  thought  she.  What  strange  familiar  spirit 
spoke  in  them?  They  brought  to  her  the  home  of 
her  childhood,  her  parents,  her  brothers  and  sisters, 
their  wanderings  in  the  meadows  to  gather  the  spring 
crocuses. 

"  Dear!  dear !"  thought  Jane,  "  that  anybody  should 
have  felt  just  as  I  did!"  and  then  a  stream  of  love  for 
John,  that  gentle,  affectionate  brother,  who  was  a  poet 
too,  and  for  little  Stephen,  who  had  died  of  the  fever, 
came  over  her  soul;  for  this  poet  too  must  have  seen 
those  dear  to  him  die.  And  he  spoke  of  partings  also 
— partings  as  severe  as  those  by  the  hand  of  death. 
Jane  thought  how  dull  she  must  have  been  never  to  have 
felt  what  partings  really  were  before;  but  a  glow  now 
came  over  her  heart,  like  the  warmth  and  gladness  of 
May  sunshine,  for  the  poet  sung  of  household  meet- 
ings, of  hearts  long  separated,  meeting  and  mingling 
like  united  waters;  and  she  rejoiced  to  think  that,  poor 
servant-girl  as  she  was,  and  not  rich,  and  powerful,  and 
great,  as  she  supposed  the  poet  to  be,  such  meetings 
might  be  in  store  for  her. 

She  told  Miss  Peters,  in  answer  to  her  questions, 
something  of  all  this  feeling,  but  only  something;  she 
was  too  diffident  to  open  her  heart  fully:  however,  from 
that  moment,  Miss  Peters  thought  J'ohn  Ford  a  truer 
poet  than  ever  she  had  thought  him  before. 

John  Ford,  the  poor  poet,  and  Jane  Ford,  the  ser- 
vant-girl— how  was  it  that  it  never  entered  into  the 
head  of  Miss  Peters  that  these  two  might  be  connected  ? 
We  know  no  farther  than  that  it  never  did.  Jane  was 
known,  however,  at  Normacott  Lodge  by  no  other 
name  than  Moore,  and  Miss  Peters,  perhaps,  like  Mrs. 
Normancott,  forgot  that  she  had  any  other. 

The  Hon.  Mrs.  Grafton  had  spoken  of  her  protege 
to  all  the  world  of  her  acquaintance;  through  her 
interest  his  books  had  been  praised  in  the  most  in- 
fluential reviews  and  magazines;  and  others  of  a  lower 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S   PLOTS.  157 

class,  taking  up  the  cuckoo  cry,  had  praised  it  likewise. 
Ford  had. .been  now  the  lion  of  a  season,  and  people 
were  beginning  to  be  tired  of  all  praise.  Authors  and 
poets,  Mrs.  Grafton  said,  were  all  jealous  of  one  ano- 
ther, and  she  still  maintained  her  poet's  cause  warmly, 
because  others  blamed.  Some  blamed  and  disliked  him 
now,  because  he  was  poor;  others  because  his  opinions 
were  too  liberal  and  independent — they  detected  radi- 
calism and  chartism,  and  all  kinds  of  dangerous  isms  in 
his  writings.  Others  again  disliked,  because  lie  was 
unquestionably  a  true  poet;  and  some  because  Mrs. 
Grafton  was  so  zealous  in  his  cause. 

",lt  was  mortifying  and  discouraging  to  see  people," 
Mrs;  Grafton  said,  "  who  had  begun  with  promises, 
stand  aloof  now,  without  any  cause,  or  as  if  they  had 
done  everything,  when,  in  fact,  they  had  done  nothing; 
it  was  mortifying  and  discouraging,  especially  as  Sir 

■ had  given  away,  only  the  very  last  week,  to  a 

good-for-nothing  fellow,  without  any  claims  whatever 
on  the  public,  the  very  place  he  had  half  promised  to 
her  poor  protege.  And  how  grieved  she  was  for  her  poor 
protege!  He  was  suffering  the  pains  of  hope  deferred. 
She  suspected  him  to  be  much  poorer  than  he  con- 
fessed; she  had  just  discovered  that  his  best  helper  of 
late,  and  perhaps  his  best  friend  in  the  end,  was  an  old 
acquaintance  of  his  own  class.  Ford  had  told  her  of 
this  true  good  friend,  who  had  come  all  the  way  up  to 
London  on  seeing  the  title  of  his  book,  and  now  pro- 
posed to  him  some  little  scheme  of  a  bookselling  shop. 

Whatever  Mrs. Grafton  imagined  of  the  pains  of  hope 
deferred  in  Ford's  case,  she  knew  nothing  of  what  he 
really  suffered.  One  day  flattered,  the  next  abused; 
partronized  by  the  proud,  lionized  by  the  vulgar;  called 
ungrateful,  and  treated  as  if  he  really  were  so,  because 
he  would  not  kiss  the  hands  that  would  have  made  him 
servile;  trembling  lest  his  few  friends  should  become 
weary  of  him;  hoping,  fearing,  in  a  state  of  uncertainty; 

r 


158  THE  BEGTNN1NG  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS. 

knowing  what  poverty  really  was,  and  seeing  before  him 
no  prospect  of  independence.  How  little  indeed  was 
he  to  be  envied! 

Somebody  of  his  own  class,  as  Mrs.  Grafton  said, 
had  proposed  that  Ford  should  commence  business  as 
a  bookseller;  but,  said  that  lady,  no  poet  is  fit  for  trade. 
That  is  true;  fit  for  trade  no  poet  certainly  ever  was; 
but  when  a  man  has  passed  through  poverty,  and  drunk 
to  the  dregs  the  even  bitterer  cup  of  dependance,  what, 
if  his  mind  be  of  a  noble  character,  will  he  not  endure 
to  achieve  his  own  independence?  Poor  Ford!  he  was 
anxious  about  the  little  book-shop,  although  he  knew, 
even  better  than  Mrs.  Grafton  herself,  that  a  true  poet 
is  sadly  unfit  for  trade. 

Let  us  now,  on  Ford's  account,  turn  back  about  ten 
days  as  to  time,  and  see  him  sitting  one  morning  in 
his  very  humble  lodgings,  with  a  sheet  of  paper  before 
him,  and  a  pen  in  his  hand.  He  had  sate  thus  for  an 
hour  or  two,  yet  had  not  as  yet  written  a  word.  Alas!  it 
was  many  months  now  since  he  had  written  as  he  used 
to  write:  he  feared  that  the  spirit  of  poetry, like  a  false 
friend,  had  deserted  him;  he  recalled  the  time  when 
thoughts  and  words  flowed  from  his  heart  like  a  moun- 
tain torrent,  fresh,  glowing,  and  full  of  power;  now  all 
was  constrained  and  cold;  yet,  how  much  more  needful 
was  it  now  to  write  well,  even  than  then;  now,  when 
patrons  were  cooling,  and  his  name  dying,  as  he  feared, 
from  the  public  heart;  and  when,  also,  in  the  distance, 
he  seemed  to  see  approaching  a  spectre  form  which  he 
knew  so  well — hated  and  dreaded  poverty !  Oh,  after 
all  his  aspirations,  to  become  a  begging  poet!  Heavens! 
what  a  dreary,  disheartening  prospect! 

While  he  was  thus  thinking,  his  door  suddenly 
opened,  and  a  tall,  well-dressed,  gentlemanly-looking 
person,  with  a  wondrously  kind  countenance  entered. 
John  Ford  looked  at  him  for  one  moment,  and  then, 
throwing  down  his  pen  and  starting  up,  gave  him  hi* 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS.  159 

hand,  exclaiming,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  God 
bless  me  ! '  Mark,  is  it  you  ?" 

Yes,  it  was  Mark  Griffiths !  and  never  was  greeting 
more  cordial  than  his.  Ford  threw  on  a  shovel-full  of 
coals,  in  the  gladness  of  his  heart,  although  lie  had 
been  sparing  his  coal  for  a  whole  week  before;  while 
Mark  rubbed  his  hands,  and  told  him  how  he  had  seen 
his  book  reviewed  in  a  Nottingham  paper,  and  had  set 
off  immediately  to  find  him  out,  and,  if  he  needed  it,  to 
help,  him  also.  Mark  Griffiths  was  no  poet  himself, 
but  he-had  alieart  as  warm  as  any  poet  that  ever  lived; 
and  so.  after  he  had  heard  all  John's  history,  and  told 
his  own,  which  had  been  a  cheerful  upward  course,  he 
proposed  to  John  the  little  scheme  of  a  bookseller's 
shop,  of  which  we  heard  before,  through  the  remarks  of 
Mrs.  Grafton. 

"  I  shall  never  thank  you  as  I  ought  to  do,"  said 
John,  in  the  course  of  the  next  hour's  conversation. 
"  I  have  heard,  from  young  Dunnett,  of  Nottingham, 
all  you  did  for  poor  father." 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  returned  Mark;  "you  think 
too  much  of  these  things.  "  Your  poor  father  died 
happily,  and  that  was  a  comfort.  What  I  did  was  little, 
however,  in  comparison  of  what  that  poor  little  Letty 
has  done  for  years.  Oh,  but  those  union  workhouses 
are  horrible  places!"  exclaimed  Mark,  altera  pause,  as 
the  remembrance  of  what  he  had  seen  when  he  found 
Ford  in  one,  rushed  upon  his  mind;  "your  father,  how- 
ever, was  spared  the  misery  of  dying  in  a  union  work- 
house, and  that  is  a  mercy;  but  Letty's  devotion  and 
thonghtfulness  surpass  words.  Poor  Letty!  your  father 
owed  the  comfort  of  his  last  days  to  that  good  step- 
daughter." 

"  And  he  lies  buried  by  my  mother,"  said  JoJm; 
"Dunnet  told  me  that;  how  decently  he  was  buried, 
and  how  you  had  ordered  a  grave-stone  for  them  both. 
God  biess  you  for  it,  Mark!"  said  John,  giving  his 


160  THE  BEGINNING  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS. 

hand,  and  not  at  all  ashamed  of  the  tears  that  filled 
his  eyes. 

"  Nothing  prevented  poor  Letty,'  said  Mark,  "after 
your  father's  death,  from  accepting  a  home  with  Mrs. 
Greaseley." 

"  And  little  Sally?"  asked  John,  with  some  anxiety. 

"  The  good  old  lady  has  taken  them  both,"  said 
Griffiths.  "  My  mother  and  she  have  taken  a  house 
together:  how  they  agree  about  Methodism  and 
Church-of-Englandism  I  don't  know,  but  they  seem 
wonderfully  happy  together.  Neither  Letty  nor  Sally 
will  ever  want  friends  again.  There  is  a  watchful  Pro- 
vidence over  us  all,  Ford — that  you  may  depend  upon." 

John  sighed,  yet  felt  in  his  inmost  soul  that  Provi- 
dence also  would  care  for  him.  The  two  talked  long, 
and  talked  confidentially  too,  of  what  lay  nearest  to 
the  hearts  of  both — of  Jane  and  of  Rachel.  Griffiths 
said  he  had  accidentally  seen  Mima  Higgins.  "  Good 
Heavens!"  exclaimed  he,  "what  a  creature  she  is! 
she  says  she  is  happy;  according  to  her  nature,  she 
may  be  so." 

"  Heaven  grant,"  said  Ford,  "  that  Rachel  be  not 
3uch  as  she ! " 

"  She  declares,"  continued  Griffiths,  "  that  she  never 
saw  Rachel  in  London,  although  she  knows  her  to 
have  come  here.  Of  Jane,  thank  God,  she  knows 
nothing!" 

"  I  have  traced  Jane,"  said  her  brother,  "  so  far  as 
living  with  a  Captain  Tremaine,  in Square;  but 

at  is  three  years  since.  Tremaine  became  bankrupt, 
and  was  outlawed.  Poor  Jane,"  continued  he,  "  my 
heart  aches  to  see  her!  How  often  have  I  looked 
round  on  the  brilliant  companies  of  beautiful  women  I 
have  been  introduced  to,  and  tried,  just  for  my  heart's 
illusion,  to  see  my  sister's  lips  or  eyes  among  them ! 
Poor  Jane ! — we  parted  at  the  Trent-bridge  turnpike, 
five  years  ago." 


THE  END  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS.  161 

"John,"  said  Mark,  laying  his  hand  on  his  friend's 
arm,  and  with  a  countenance  suddenly  overshadowed, 
"you  know  not  the  doubts  and  uncertainties  that 
agitate  me.  What  if  Jane  should  not  be  in  London — 
should  have  left  England— or  should  be  married? 
What  a  fool  I  have  been  to  lose  sight  of  her  thus! 
Mother  promised  to  write  regularly  to  her :  she  has  lost 
sight  of  her  for  these  three  years !  And  so  as  1  loved 
her!  so  as  I  have  been  toiling  for  her!  I  have  worked 
my  way  upward  in  life;  a  prospect  of  independence, 
not  jo  say  v-ealth,  is  before  me:  all  this  1  have  done 
for  her— perhaps,  after  all,  to  find  her  another's!" 

,'.'  No," said  John,  wishing  to  assure  his  friend,  rather 
tha'n  being  assured  himself,  "  if  she  loved  you  once, 
Mark,  "she  is  true  to  you  still.  Jane  is  not  one  to 
marry  in  a  hurry." 

The  two  friends  talked  yet  farther :  they  talked  of 
John's  prospects,  of  his  disappointments,  and  his  anx- 
ieties. MarK  Griffiths  did  not  sympathize  half  as  much 
with  the  feelings  of  the  poet,  as  with  those  of  the  man 
struggling  after  independence  :  they  were  feelings  which 
which  he  understood  well. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    END    OF    MRS.    CASEY'S    PLOTS,    AND    A    HAPPY 
MARRIAGE. 

But  it  is  high  time  that  our  readers  knew  something 
more  about  the  false-hearted  and  plotting  Mrs.  Casev. 
We  will,  therefore,  make  ourselves  accpiainted  with 
her  cogitations  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which 
the  splendid  house  in  Portland  Place  was  prepared 
for  a  brilliant  assembly,  and  to  which  our  poor  tiiend, 
John  Ford,  w  a8  invited. 

"  The  more  1  think  on  that  girl  at  Normacott  Lodge," 
6aid  Mrs.  Casey  to  herself,  "the  more  determined  am 

p2 


162  THE   END  OF  MRS. 

I  to  g-et  lier  out  of  her  place.  She's  just  the  one  to  get 
on  the  hlind  side  of  the  old  lady— is  so  quiet,  and  has 
really  something  so  genteel  about  her— fiddle-faddles 
about  the  old  woman  in  such  an  artful  way.  Old  people 
are  so  silly !  She  does  get  up  her  lace  very  well,  and 
her  caps  are  uncommon  well  made;  but  what  then? 
Henrietta  could  do  that  just  as  well;  and  then,  Hen- 
rietta's a  far  cleverer  girl — will  never  lose  sight  either 
of  her  interest  or  of  mine;  and,  bless  me!  what  haven't 
I  paid  in  schooling  for  her,  say  nothing  of  millinery 
and  hairdressing,  and  all  along  with  an  eye  to  this  same 

place.  Why  need  I  have  brought  her  out  of  Lady 's 

place,  in  Florence,  but  for  thinking  of  this  ?  Well, 
well,  it  matters  not;  I  know  enough  how  to  unsettle 
Moore  with  the  old  lady— thanks  to  her  nicety  about 

morals,  and  all  that.    The  story  about  the  child  in 

Row  will  do  my  business,  without  Louis  Bates  about 
the  French  time-piece,  though  that's  good  in  its  way. 
It's  a  miserable  thing  I  can't  write  a  little  myself;  and 
someway,  I  don't  care  to  set  Henrietta  about  it;  the 
butler  might  do  it  for  me,  but  then,  when  he's  drunk  he 
blabs;  the  other  fellows  would  not  do  it  as  it  should  be 
done.  But,  stay!  I  have  the  idea  now — my  lady's  poet, 
Ford— that's  the  man;  I'll  ask  my  lady  if  he  would 
write  a  letter  for  me:  I'll  beg  her  to  ask  him ;  he's  under 
a  world  of  obligations  to  her;  and,  if  I'm  not  mistaken, 
like  many  another  poor  fellow  beside,  she  sits  nearer 
to  his  heart  than  is  good  for  his  happiness:  but  that's 
no  business  of  mine;  only  he  shall  write  my  letter — 
that's  certain!" 

Mrs.  Casey  was  as  smooth  as  oil  to  her  lady  that 
evening,  and  as  nattering  as  a  syren.  Mrs.  Grafton 
looked  uncommonly  well;  her  velvet  dress  fitted  her 
superblv,  her  beautiful  hair  was  braided  with  more  than 
common  errace  on  her  noble  forehead;  there  was,  in 
short,  a  success  in  her  toilet  that  night  that  put  her  in 
perfect  good  humour  with  all  the  world.     Mrs.  Casev 


AND  A  HAPPY   MARRIAGE.  168 

preferred  her  request.  She  wanted  a  letter  writing 
of  the  greatest  importance  to  her — did  her  lady  think 
Mr.  Ford  would  write  it  for  her?  Mrs.  Grafton  under- 
took to  make  the  request  on  her  behalf,  and  promised, 
without  doubt,  his  ready  acquiescence.  Whether,  how- 
ever, Mrs.  Grafton,  in  the  midst  of  the  triumphs  of  that 
splendid  evening,  would  have  remembered  her  promise 
is  doubtful,  had  she  not  overheard  the  remarks  of  two 
ladies  respecting  her  appearance,  both  agreeing  that 
not  only  was  her  figure  the  most  perfect  in  the  world, 
but  Jjer  Abigail,  Mrs.  Casey,  the  most  accomplished 
also.  "  Oh^poor  Casey  and  her  letter ! "  thought  Mrs. 
Grafton;  and,  turning  round,  John  Ford  was  standing 
near  her.  Poor  Ford!  there  was  a  charm  in  every 
word  this  beautiful  woman  uttered,  which  thrilled  to  his 
heart  like  words  of  lightning.  Mrs.  Casey  was  right, 
when  she  insinuated  that  his  admiration  of  her  verged 
upon  passionate  love.  "  You  will  oblige  me  greatly, 
Mr.  Ford,"  concluded  she,  "  if  you  will  write  this  letter 
for  poor  Casey;  she  is  an  excellent  creature,  and  has, 
I  believe,  some  trouble  or  other  just  now,  from  which 
she  thinks  this  letter  is  to  relieve  her.  You  will  oblige 
me.  Mr.  Ford,  by  becoming  her  amanuensis." 

Ford  bowed,  and  sisrhed,  and  yet  felt  happy  to  be 
requested  by  her  to  write  a  letter,  even  for  her  servant. 

The  next  day,  when  Mrs.  Grafton  took  a  drive  in 
the  Park,  Mrs.  Casey  took  a  cab,  and  drove  to  Ford's 
lodgings.  The  business  was  soon  entered  upon,  and 
the  paper,  which  on  her  entrance  lay  before  the  poet 
ready  to  receive  "a  sonnet  to  his  mistress's  eyebrow'," 
received  instead  the  following  effusion,  which,  in  obe- 
dience, to  Mrs.  Grafton's  bidding,  he  wrote  down,  un- 
questioning, to  Mrs.  Casey's  dictation: — 

"Honoured  Last — Knowing  your  high  sense  of  propriety,  and 
your  wish  to  keep  your  household  spotless,  I  have  been  induced  to 
pen  this  to  you.  to  warn  you  against  an  individual  in  your  service, 
of  whose  true  character  you  are  hy  no  means  aware; — an  individual 
*f  to  much  cunning,  as  to  impose  even  upon  you;  an  individual 


i64  THE  END  OF  MKS.  CASEY'b  PLOTS, 

who,  though  young,  has  been  guilty  of  many  errors— not  to  give  then 
blacker  names. 

"  I  know,  honoured  lady,  how  your  virtuous  soul  will  shrink  from 
charges  of  this  nature  against  any  one  of  your  household  ;  and  you  will 
say.  Point  out  the  offender — let  me  know  who  it  is,  that,  soiled  in  cha- 
racter, wears  this  mask  before  me;  let  me  know  who  it  is,  that  they 
may  be  driven  from  my  presence! 

"  Honoured  lady,  the  offender,  the  masked  person,  is  Moore — the 
smooth-spoken,  seemingly  well-behaved  Moore!  I  see  how  you  are 
shocked!  I  know  your  excellent  heart,  and  grieve  to  have  wounded 
it;  but  truth,  honoured  lady,  is  a  sacred  thing;  truth  will  stand  and 
prevail,  and  truth  must  and  shall  out!  Let  Moore  be  asked  who 
took  the  French  time-piece  from  Captain   Tremaine's?    Let  her  be 

asked  about  the  child  which  she  maintains  in Row.     Let  her 

be  asked  these  things,  and  then  see  if  truth  will  not  shame  even  her. 

"  Honoured  madam,  1  have  the  honour  to  subscribe  myself " 

John  Ford,  who  had  implicitly  written  down  the  above 
at  the  literal  dictation  of  Casey,  here  paused,  because 
she  did  not  supply  the  name. 

"  Paul  Pry's  rather  vulgar,"  said  she;  "can't you  hit 
upon  some  good  name,  Mr.  Ford,  which  means  seeing 
in  the  dark,  finding  out  hidden  things,  or  something  of 
that  sort." 

"Then  you  don't  sign  it  with  your  own  name?" 
said  Ford. 

"  Bless  you!"  exclaimed  Casey,  "it's  an  anonymous 
letter.  I'm  so  vexed  to  see  a  good  lady,  like*  Mrs. 
Normacott,  imposed  upon  by  a  worthless  young  huzzy; 
but  I'm  not  going  to  thrust  myself  bodily  into  the 
business !" 

"  Anonymous  letters  of  this  kind,"  said  Ford,  throw- 
ing down  his  pen,  are  cowardly  things!  Does  Mrs. 
Grafton  know  the  kind  of  letter  I  have  written?" 

"  Every  word  of  it,"  said  Mrs.    Casey,  who  never 
was  very  nice  about  truth;  "didn't  she  tell  you  her 
self?    and  didn't   she  say  you  would   oblige  her  by 
writing  it?" 

Casey  did  not  know  that  she  had  actually  said  so. 
This  was  on  her  part  only  a  bold  stroke;  but  it  was  so 
near  the  truth,  in  seeming  at  least,  that  Ford,  though 
with  a  feeling  of  regret  and  sorrow,  acquiesced,  and, 


AND  A   HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  165 

at  his  own  suggestion,  subscribed  the  letters  Y.Z.;  for, 
though  it  means  nothing,  said  he,  it  is  as  good  as  any- 
other  signature. 

Casey  was  charmed  to  have  the  letter  written;  the 
time  for  sending  it,  too,  was  the  most  opportune  in  the 
world.  Miss  Peters  was  gone  with  the  young  Therese 
to  Hastings,  and  the  impressible  mind  of  the  old  lady- 
was  thus  left  without  counter-influences.  Mrs.  Grafton 
also  was  about  to  spend  some  time  with  her  mother; 
she  herself  should  thus  be  on  the  spot,  to  take  advantage 
of  Axery  opportunity  that  favoured  her. 

There  is  an  instinctive  sense  of  right  and  wrong  in 
every  human  breast:  people  can  hardly  be  made  blind 
tools  of  wickedness;  for,  though  they  may  impose  upon 
others,  it  is  impossible  to  impose  upon  themselves ! 
Such  were  some  of  the  cogitations  of  John  Ford's 
breast  that  same  evening.  There  was  something  wrong 
and  false  about  that  vulgar  letter,  which  made  him 
offended  with  himself  for  having  written  it.  And  yet, 
reasoned  he  with  himself,  "  she  said,  you  will  oblige  me 
greatly  by  writing  this  letter  for  her."  Doubt,  and  the 
absence  of  self-respect,  are  miserable  feelings.  He 
sighed,  and  sighed  bitterly  too,  when  he  thought,  if  this 
was  dependance,  if  this  was  the  penalty  of  loving  the 
beautiful,  and  being  flattered  by  the  great,  how  much 
preferable  was  poverty  and  obscurity! 

The  letter  arrived  duly  at  Normacott  Lodge,  and 
was  read  and  re-read  by  the  old  lady  to  whom  it  was 
addressed,  with  disgust  and  aversion.  "  I  hate  these 
anonymous  letters,"  said  she,  putting  it  into  her  writing- 
desk,  "and  I  believe  Moore  to  be  an  honest,  excel- 
lent creature.  I  will  not  believe  a  word  of  it — not  a 
single  single  word  of  it!"  said  the  old  lady  to  herself, 
quite  energetically.  "  When  Miss  Peters  comes  home 
she  shall  inquire  into  it;  but,  in  the  meantime,  Pll  try 
to  forget  all  about  it." 

Mrs.  Normacott  tried  not  to  think  of  the  letter,  but 


166  THE  END  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  TLOT8, 

thoughts  of  it  would  present  themselves.  She  deter- 
mined to  think  poor  Jane  honest  and  excellent;  but 
still,  she  said  to  herself,  what  if  she  should  not  be  so? 
It  was  an  unpleasant  thing  to  be  tro.ibled  with  these 
haunting  thoughts.  She  wished  with  all  her  heart  Miss 
Peters  would  come  back,  and  had  half  a  mind  to  men- 
tion it  to  her  daughter;  but  someway  Mrs.  Grafton  was 
always  occupied  with  other  things,  and  she  had  not 
been  in  the  habit  of  talking  on  such  matters  with  her; 
so  it  must  wait,  she  said,  though  it  was  a  very  import- 
ant thing,  till  Miss  Peters  returned. 

Mrs.  Casey  was  greatly  surprised  to  hear  nothing 
said  of  the  letter,  and  greatly  annoyed  too,  to  see  Jane 
apparently  as  much  trusted  by  her  mistress  as  ever. 
Jane,  however,  though  Mrs.  Normacott  fancied  there 
was  no  difference  in  her  behaviour,  perceived  that  she 
had  someway  lost  confidence,  and  renewed  her  efforts 
doubly  to  oblige.  Mrs.  Casey,  not  satisfied,  therefore, 
with  things  as  they  appeared  to  her,  and  glad  of  the 
absence  of  Miss  Peters,  determined  to  do  all  that  she 
feared  the  letter  had  not  done.  Accordingly,  in  the 
first  place,  she  began  by  the  most  vigilant  attentions  to 
the  old  lady,  of  which  she  was  very  susceptible. 

"  Moore,"  said  she,  one  day,  "seems  a  remarkable 
clever  young  person." 

"  Yes,  clever  she  certainly  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Norma- 
cott, but  coolly.  Upon  this  Mrs.  Casey  began  to  speak, 
as  she  well  knew  how,  not  with  direct  charges,  but 
insinuations,  and  fears,  and  apprehensions;  and  she  had 
heard,  and,  if  it  would  not  be  presumptuous,  she  could 
tell  something.  &c,  &c.  Mrs.  Normacott  took  one 
pinch  of  snuff  after  another,  and,  thinking  she  would 
say  nothing  about  the  letter,  yet  encouraged  Casey  to 
go  on  talking.  The  more  Casey  talked,  the  more  dis- 
satisfied became  the  mind  of  the  old  lady,  till  at  last 
she  confessed  that  she  herself  had  had  some  reason  for 
doubt,  but  that  she  wished  not  to  be  rash;  she  should 


AND  A  HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  167 

do  nothing  till  Miss  Peters  returned.  Mrs.  Casey's 
object,  however,  was  to  get  all  accomplished  while  Miss 
Peters  was  away;  so  she  took  an  early  opportunity  of 
Buggesting  to  the  old  lady,  that  as  there  was  no  doubt 
but  that  all  those  suspicions  of  Moore  would  be  fully 
established,  "  If  I  might  be  so  presumptuous,  ma'am," 
said  she.  in  her  smoothest  voice,  "and  Moore  should 
leave — although  I'm  sure  I  would  not  be  the  cause,  if 
she  is  innocent,  of  her  losing  a  place  like  this,  which  is 
oneju  a  million  —  I  would  make  bold,  ma'am,  to  recom- 
iru-ml-Tny  n'iVce.  who  is  well  known  to  my  lady,  as  inno- 
cent arret  well-mannered  a  young  woman  as  any  in  the 
worJd."  Mrs.  Normacott  said  she  would  think  about 
this;  but  she  did  not  object  to  see  the  young  woman 
Satisfied  so  far  with  her  scheme,  Mrs.  Casey  fur  her 
proposed  that  she  should  send  for  a  most  respectable 
young  man,  who  had  lived  as  fellow-servant  with  Moore 
in  a  gentleman's  family,  and  who  would  testify  as  to  her 
having  stolen  some  valuable  property.  Mrs.  Norma- 
cott remembered  the  anonymous  letter;  but  she,  being 
a  timid  person,  was  terrified  at  the  idea  of  a  man  coming 
before  her  to  witness  to  anything;  so  she  peremptorily 
said,  "  Oh,  no,  no! — no  such  thing!  If  Moore  was 
dishonest,  it  would  all  be  found  out  when  Miss  Peters 
came  back!"  That  was  unsatisfactory;  but  Mrs.  Casey 
was  not  disheartened.  Mrs.  Normacott  now  told  her 
daughter  what  had  been  done.  Mrs.  Grafton  did  not 
seem  pleased;  said  that  Casey  was  fond  of  meddling; 
and  that  she,  for  her  part,  should  prefer  Moore  to  Hen- 
rietta Casey-  Poor  Mrs.  Normacott !  she  was  so  tossed 
about  by  a  variety  of  opinions,  she  knew  not  what  to 
do;  and  Jane,  as  was  natural,  found  her  situation  pain- 
fully unpleasant,  without  knowing  howshe  had  offended, 
or  who  was  her  enemy.  Henrietta  Casey,  too,  was 
come;  but,  grevionsly  to  the  annoyance  of  her  aunt, 
Mrs.  Normacott  gave  her  no  permission  for  her  to  come 
to  her  presence.  The  girl,  therefore,  had  nothing  to  do 


168        THE  END  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS, 

but  to  amuse  herself  with  the  younger  servants,  and 
play  tricks  on  the  older  ones,  which,  sober  as  they  were, 
gave  no  satisfaction. 

When  Miss  Peters  returned,  she  found  what  decided 
prejudice  had  taken  possession  of  the  old  lady's  mind. 
Everything  was  told  to  her,  and,  as  if  in  confirmation, 
the  anonymous  letter  produced;  but  Miss  Peters  was 
not  as  easily  convinced,  or  rather  swayed  in  opinion,  as 
Mrs.  Normacott.  "  Trust  it  to  me,"  said  she,  "  and  I 
will  discover  if  she  be  innocent  or  guilty.  Mrs.  Tre- 
maine  I  happened  fortunately  to  meet  at  Hastings:  I 
will  write  to  her.  This  anonymous  letter  is  a  false 
thing,  and,  if  I  am  not  deceived,  Casey  herself  has  had 
a  hand  in  it." 

Mrs.  Normacott  felt  at  once  ashamed  of  having 
listened  so  much  to  Casey.  She  thought  it  was  well, 
therefore,  to  let  the  subject  drop,  after  assuring  Miss 
Peters  that  she  would  leave  it  all  to  her;  and,  to  divert 
her  thoughts  from  a  subject  which  was  not  flattering  to 
her,  she  sent  for  her  grandchild. 

Therese  came  bounding  in  with  a  garland  of  flowers 
round  her  head.  "  How  like  a  picture  you  are,  child!" 
exclaimed  the  old  lady;  "  I  wish  Chalon  could  see  you 
now!"  n 

"  Moore  has  made  it  for  me — is  it  not  pretty?"  said 
the  child.  "  And  Moore  is  crying  so,  it  makes  me  quite 
sorry  to  see  her;  she  says  she  has  cried  a  deal  lately, 
grandmamma." 

"  Give  her  this  half-sovereign,"  said  Mrs.  Normacott, 
kissin°-  her;  "say  it  is  from  me,  because  she  has  made 
you  this  prettv  garland.  But,  Therese,"  said  the  weak- 
minded  old  lady,  "you  need  not  let  Casey  see  you  give 
it  to  her." 

Normacott  Lodge  was  undergoing  repair;  workmen 
were  employed  in  the  dining-room,  which  was  under 
the  suite  of  rooms  used  by  Mrs.  Normacott,  Miss  Peters, 
and  the  little  Therese.     Jane  slept  in  au  ante-room 


AND  A  HAPPY   MARRIAGE.  169 

adjoining:  Mrs.  Normacott's  dressing-room.  Therewere 
many  workmen,  some  of  them  young,  employed  about 
the  place;  and,  as  Henrietta  Casey  was  very  pretty  and 
very  giddy,  and  had  not,  as  we  said,  much  to  do,  being 
tired  of  the  grave  servants,  nothing  was  more  natural 
than  to  sco  into  this  great  dining-room,  and  laugh  and 
flirt  with  the  young  workmen.  They  were  all  romping 
together  on  that  afternoon  when  Miss  Peters  returned. 
Henrietta  snatched  off  first  one  paper-cap  and  then 
another,  and  threw  them  on  to  a  high  scaffolding  at 
the -end  of  the  room.  In  revenge  of  this,  one  young 
man. snatched  off  her  silver  thimble,  and  in  the  scuffle 
bet-ween  them,  it  fell.  In  the  evening,  not  wishing  her 
aunt  to  know  of  her  loss,  she  took  a  candle  to  search 
for  it  among  the  shavings  and  strips  of  paper,  among 
•which  she  supposed  it  to  be  dropped;  after  searching 
some  time,  without  finding  it,  she  became  aware  that 
one  of  Mrs.  Grafton's  servants,  a  handsome  young 
fellow,  who  was  a  favourite  with  her,  was  watching  her 
through  the  window.  He  invited  her  to  come  out.  She 
did  so,  setting  down  the  lighted  candle  on  the  floor, 
sadly  too  near  the  heap  of  shavings,  intending  to  return 
and  finish  her  search;  but  the  youth  invited  her  to  a 
moonlight  stroll  in  the  shrubberies,  and  the  youth  and 
the  moonlight  stroll  made  her  forget  both  the  thimble 
and  the  lighted  candle. 

In  the  dead  of  the  night,  Jane  was  awakened  by  a 
sudden  blaze  in  her  bed-room.  Fire  had  burst  in  through 
a  closet  in  one  corner;  all  was  stifling  hot;  the  dry 
wainscot  shrunk,  and  cracked,  and  blazed,  with  the 
wildest  fury.  Jane  started  up,  and,  wrapping  herself 
in  a  woollen  cloak,  which  fortunately  was  near  her, 
rushed  into  Mrs.  Normacott's  room,  which  the  fire  had 
not  yet  reached,  and,  hastily  undrawing  the  curtains, 
exclaimed,  "For  God's  sake,  ma'am,  wake!  fire  is  in 
the  house!"  And  then,  seeing  the  terrified  and  be- 
wildered lady  almost  insensible  with  fright  and  sur- 

Q 


170  THE  END  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS, 

prise,-she  wrapped  a  blanket  round  her,  and,  snatching 
her  up  in  her  arms,  carried  her  along  the  already  heating 
passage  to  that  part  of  the  house  which  was  most  dis- 
tant from  the  fire,  screaming  as  she  rushed  along,  at  the 
top  of  her  voice,  "  Fire!  fire!"  to  rouse  the  household. 
She  laid  the  old  lady  on  the  sofa,  and  then  flew  back 
to  the  chamber  of  Miss  Peters  and  Therese,  whom  she 
found  fast  asleep.  "Fly!  fly!"  exclaimed  she— "  fly 
along  the  narrow  passage  to  the  drawing-room;  Mrs. 
Norniacott  is  safe!"  and,  snatching  up  the  yet  sleep- 
ing- child  from  her  bed,  she  rushed  along  the  passage, 
followed  by  Miss  Peters. 

The  house  was  now  aroused;  the  alarm-bell  was 
ringing;  the  engine  belonging  to  the  Lodge  was  being 
got  out;  when  Mrs.  Normacott,  clasping  Therese  to 
her  breast,  exclaimed,  "  My  daughter!  my  daughter^ 
where  is  she?"  "  I  might  have  been  burnt  in  my  bed," 
said  Mrs.  Grafton,  in  an  angry  tone,  entering  at  that 
moment,half-dressed,  "for  any  care  of  Casey's  about  me. 
The  woman  must  have  been  drunk!  Moore,  I  thank 
you!  I  owe  my  life  to  you!"  said  she,  throwing  herself 
on  a  sofa,  and  bursting  into  a  flood  of  hysterical  tears. 

Clothes  and  valuables  were  brought  in  and  thrown 
down,  and,  nobody  knowing  exactly  what  they  did; 
dressed  themselves"  as  best  they  might. 

"The  east  wing  is  all  in  flame,"  said  the  house- 
steward,  entering.  "  We  have  saved  whatever  we  can 
of  furniture  and  pictures,  but  the  rest  must  go.  The 
jewels,  the  plate-chest,  and  the  deed-box,  are  all  safe." 
"The  deed  in  mv  table-drawer!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nor- 
macott, struck  as  by  a  terrible  thought— "the  deed 

which   Mr. returned  yesterday!  the  parchments, 

tied  with  red  tape,  which  I  myself  laid  in  my  table- 
drawer  yesterday!— if  they  are  lost.  Good  God!  they 
must  not  be  lost!"  The  old  steward  shook  his  head, 
and  said  it  was  too  late  now;  that  he  had  taken  care 
of  the  deed-chest,  and  he  thought  all  was  right  then; 
he  had  forgotten  those  deeds. 


AND  A  HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  171 

"They  must  not  be  lost,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Grafton, 
starting"  up  with  a  sudden  energy,  for  she  knew  the 
value  of  the  parchments.  "  A  hundred  pounds  to  who* 
ever  will  rescue  those  parchments!"  exclaimed  she,  in 
a  loud  clear  voice,  so  that  everybody  might  hear,  and 
Tushing  towards  the  scene  of  the  burning-. 

"  Where  are  they?  where  are  they?"  inquired  twenty 
voices.  The  most  clear  and  precise  directions  were 
given.  The  steward  pointed  to  the  room,  and  repeated 
thj-  offered  reward.  Fire,  however,  was  in  the  room, 
aiul.arouif?i  it — fire  seemed  to  cut  it  off  from  the  rest  of 
th'-  house:  but,  while  they  were  looking  on,  a  cry,  half 
ojf.terror,  half  of  triumph,  rose  from  all :  the  figure  of  a 
woman  was  seen  in  the  midst  of  the  flames,  holding; 
aloft,  as  if  to  deter  others  from  the  dangers  of  the 
attempt,  the  desired  parchments.  She  endeavoured 
to  return  by  the  nairow  passage,  by  which  she  had 
reached  the  rooms:  the  applause  of  the  spectators 
encouraged  her  to  the  attempt,  but  the  force  of  the 
flames  utterly  prevented  it.  She  rushed  back  almost 
frantic.  Still  there  was  one  hope  of  escape,  anil  that 
was  by  a  side  staircase.  The  crowd  outside,  the  people 
everywhere,  rushed  there  to  assist  her  escape,  if  escape 
were  possible.  The  flaming  staircase  fell  with  her 
a  eight,  and  a  cry  of  horror,  despair,  and  sympathy  rose, 
which  was  heard  above  the  roaring  of  the  tire.  But 
the  heroism  of  the  poor  trirl  had  made  a  hero  of  every 
man  who  was  present.  All,  regardless  of  fire  or  danger, 
rushed  forward,  and  from  the  mass  of  burning  ruins, 
she,  with  the  parchments  still  grasped  in  tier  hand,  was 
carried  off  insensible. 

The  fire  was  extinguished;  danger  to  either  life  or 
property  was  now  at  an  end.  Much  furniture  was 
destroyed;  hut  whatever  was  of  great  value  had  been 
saved,  and  saved,  as  everybody  Said,  by  the  heroism 
of  a  maid-servant;  and  not  only  hail  valuables  been 
saved,  but  lile  also.     Mrs.  Normacott  remembered  hovf 


;  ;2  THE  END  OF  MRS.   CASEY  S  PLOTS, 

slit  had  been  borne  off  from  her  bed  in  this  poor  girl's 
arms;  the  beloved  Therese,  too,  had  been  carried 
through  advancing  flames  by  the  same  heroic  creature, 
Mrs. Grafton  had  been  roused  too  from  sleep  by  her :  they 
all  were  safe — no  life  lost.  Yet,  how  much  had  not  her 
life  been  endangered,  and  how  much,  even  now,  was 
she  not  suffering!  Her  arm  was  broken  by  the  fall,  and 
one  shoulder  terribly  scorched;  and,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  heroism  which  her  own  heroism  inspired,  she  must 
have  perished  in  the  flames! 

Poor  girl !  what  a  tide  of  gratitude,  and  admira- 
tion, and  kindness  now  set  in  towards  her !  Mrs.  Nor- 
macott  was  ashamed  and  troubled  to  think  how  she  had 
listened  to  whispers  against  her.  "  No,  no,"  said  the 
old  lady,  speaking  of  the  anonymous  letter,  "  it  is 
impossible  these  insinuations  were  true;  they  are  the 
work  of  some  malicious  person  to  injure  her.  Poor 
Bella  may  take  away  Casey;  and,  as  to  her  niece,  after 
what  the  butler  tells  me  about  her  occasioning  the  fire, 
she  may  go  about  her  business.  I  only  wish  she  had 
never  come  near  us!  I  shall  settle  an  annuity  on 
Moore,  for  her  good  conduct,  and  her  heroism  in  the 
fire.  In  the  meantime,  my  dear  Miss  Peters,  see  that 
she  has  medical  assistance,  and  all  that  is  needful  for 
her  speedy  and  happy  recovery." 

For  fourteen  days  Jane  was  in  violent  fever,  with 
delirium,  and  even  at  one  time  her  life  was  despaired 
of;  but  youth,  and  good  nursing,  and  skilful  medical 
care,  were  all  in  her  favour,  and  brought  her  at  length 
into  a  state  of  recovery. 

One  day  she  was  sitting  up  in  her  bed,  with  kind 
Miss  Peters  near  her.  Jane  began  to  speak  of  the 
state  of  the  household  feeling  towards  her  at  the  time 
Miss  Peters  was  at  Hastings.  Everybody,  she  said, 
was  so  cold,  and  hated  her  exactly  as  if  she  had  done 
something  wrong:  she  fancied  Casey's  niece  was  to 
take  her  situation:  Mrs.  Normacott  seemed  displeased 


AND  A  HATPY   MARRIAGE.  173 

to  have  her  about  her;  and  yet,  she  never  in  all  her  life 
had  tried  so  much  to  sive  satisfaction.  It  was  so  dif- 
ferent now,  she  said;  but  that  was, she  supposed, because 
she  had  exerted  herself  so  much  at  the  fire.  Still,  she 
must  confess,  she  wanted  to  know  what  had  displeased 
everybody  so  much  before. 

Miss  Peters  said  she  would  tell  her  all,  and  she  could, 
connected  with  the  subject,  tell  her  something  also 
which  would  please  her  greatly.  She  said  there  was  a 
something  about  a  French  time-piece  being  taken  from 
Captain  Tremaine's.  Jane  begged  to  explain.  "  No, 
no,"7"  said  Miss  Peters,  "  you  must  not  speak — you  must 
listeirfo-ftie.  This  Mrs.  Tremaine  I  met  at  Hastings; 
slip  is  there,  in  very  bad  health,  with  her  father.  Since 
your  illness  I  wrote  to  her,  stating  the  charge  made 
against  you.  I  have  received  this  very  morning  a  most 
satisfactory  reply.  She  speaks  in  the  highest  terms  of 
you;  says' the  time-piece  was  given  to  you  in  lieu  of 
unpaid  wages;  regrets  what  has  occurred;  and  encloses 
for  you  a  ten  pound  bill !" 

Jane  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  inwardly 
thanked  God  that  her  innocence  was  established.  "Poor 
Mrs.  Tremaine ! "  said  she,  "  she  must,  then,  be  in  good 
circumstances  now." 

"  Unquestionably  so,"  returned  Miss  Peters;  "  her 
father,  at  least,  seems  rich.  But,  besides  this,"  con- 
tinued she,  "another  charge  was  brought  against  you, 

regarding  a  certain  child  kept  by  you  in  Row. 

Mrs.  Forster,  your  former  mistress,  has  explained  all 
this  to  me.  I  have  seen  your  friend  Mr.  Mainwaring 
also,  and  even  the  child.  1  know  all  now,  Moore,  and 
bo  does  Mrs.  Normacott;  and  thus  your  character  is  not 
only  clear,  but  one  to  be  honoured." 

A^ain  Jane  could  not  help  crying.  "Would  you 
please,  Miss  Peters,"  at  length  she  said,  "  to  tell  me  W  ho 
has  made  these  unkind,  yet  artful,  charges  against  me  ?" 

"  This  letter  it  was,"  said  Miss  Peters,  "which  in  the 
p'2 


174  THE  END  OF  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTS, 

first  place  made  these  charges,  which  excited  prejudice 
against  you,  but  which,  in  the  end,  has  only  served  to 
clear  your  character;  for,  without  this  letter,  I  should 
not  probably  have  applied  to  either  Mrs.  Tremaine  or 
Mrs.  Forster.  The  letter  is  not  worth  reading,  but  I 
wish  you  to  see  it  before  it  is  destroyed." 

"Good  gracious!"  exclaimed  Jane,  glancing  hastily 
at  the  letter,  "this  writing  is  my  brother's  ! — my  brother 
John's !  How  could  he  ever  write  such  a  letter  as 
this? — yet  it  is  his  hand-writing!" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Peters,  "  not  likely:  it  merely 
bears  a  resemblance.  Yet  the  hand  is  very  peculiar; 
a  good  hand  with  a  deal  of  character:  but  it  is  not  his 
writing,  depend  upon  it.  I  suspect  the  quarter  from 
which  this  comes." 

"  It  is  John's  hand- writing,"  persisted  Jane,  as  she 
had  gone  through  the  letter;  "  and  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  fire" — for  Jane's  property  had  all  been  de- 
stroyed— "  I  could  have  shown  you  a  letter  of  his.  Oh, 
such  letters  as  he  used  to  write!  so  superior,  as  I  used 
to  think  him,  to  everybody  else!  He  was  a  poet,  Miss 
Peters;  wrote  such  beautiful  poetry,  and  always  used 
to  think  so  properly  about  everything.  Dear  me!" 
exclaimed  Jane,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I  can't  think 
what  made  him  write  a  letter  like  this!  But  then," 
added  she,  the  thought  suddenly  occurring  to  her, 
"  he  must  be  in  London." 

"What  is  your  real  name,  Moore?"  asked  Miss 
Peters,  a  thought  instantly  occurring  to  her.  Jane 
mentioned  it. 

"  It  is  singular — very  singular,"  said  Miss  Peters. 
'  It  may  be  your  brother;  but  we  will  not  blame  him 
or  all  that.  I  know  something  of  a  fine  young  poet 
named  John  Ford." 

"My  brother!"  exclaimed  Jane;  "do  you  indeed 
snow  my  brother?" 

"  Not  personally,"  returned  Miss  Peters,  "  but  s-ome- 


AND  A  HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  175 

thing-  of  his  mind;  and  so  do  you  also."  She  then 
recalled. to  Jane  the  poems  which  had  affected  her  so 
much.  "  It  is  quite  possible,"  said  she,  "  that  your 
brother,  this  beautiful  poet,  may  have  written  this 
worthless  letter,  and  yet  be  himself  guiltless." 

"Thank  you!  thank  you  for  the  thought,  for  the 
belief,"  said  Jane;  "and "is  my  brother  then  indeed  in 
London  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Peters,  rising,  "but  you  must  now 
rest:  this  excitement  is  too  much  for  you.  Try  to 
sleep;  and  to-night  I  will  see  you  again." 

'Miss  Peters  told  Mrs.  Normacott  of  the  probable 
disco  reryshe  had  made,  that  John  Ford,  Mrs.  Grafton's 
favourite  poet,  was  the  brother  of  poor  Moore,  other- 
wise Jane  Ford.  What  a  discovery  was  this!  And  the 
letter  too,  the  vulgar  anonymous  letter,  was  recognized 
by  Jane  to  be  the  hand-writing  of  her  brother.  While 
Miss  Peters  was  thus  speaking,  Mrs.  Grafton  came  in. 
All  was  told  to  her,  the  letter  shown  to  her,  and  of 
course  could  be  in  a  great  measure  explained  by  her. 
This  was  the  letter  which  Casey  had  employed  Ford 
to  write,  and  for  the  obtaining  of  which  her  own  agency 
had  been  used.  Mrs.  Grafton  declared  herself  to  have 
been  for  some  time  disgusted  with  Casey.  Her  beha- 
viour on  the  niffht  of  the  fire  had  displeased  her  greatly; 
this  now,  with  its  cunning,  falsehood,  and  baseness, 
offended  her  more  than  all  the  rest. 

"  Ford  shall  come  here  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Grafton, 
"and  Casey  too,  and  poor  Moore — or  Ford,  I  suppose 
we  must  now  call  her — shall  be  cleared  before  you  all." 

"  She  is  cleared,"  said  Miss  Peters;  and  then  told 
what  Mrs.  Tremaine  had  said  and  done,  and  all  that 
Mr.  Forster,  and  Mr.  Mainwaring  had  told  her  of  her 
connexion  with  poor  Rachel's  child. 

Why  need  we  tell  of  the  morrow? — of  Casey  and 
Ford  meeting  at  the  bedside  of  Jane,  unconscious  of 
why  they  were  brought  there? — of  the  instant  confusion 


176        THE  END  OF  MRS.  CASEY  S  PLOTS, 

of  both,  yet  how  Ford  was  cleared  of  all  blame,  and 
Casev,  confounded  rather  than  ashamed,  left  to  the 
disgrace  of  her  own  evil  will  ? 

What  follows  farther?  To  know  best  what  followed 
farther,  we  must  pass  over  two  years,  and  hear  the 
conversation  of  two  old  friends  of  ours,  as  they  walked 
from  the  omnibus,  in  which  they  had  unexpectedly  met, 
to  a  very  pretty,  happy-looking  house  at  Highgate, 
whither  thev  were  both  bound. 

"  Oh,  my' friend,"  said  old  Joseph  Williams  to  James 
Kemp,  who,  though  still  in  service,  was  now  out  of 
livery,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  at  last  going  to  Griffiths's. 
Have  vou  seen  her  yet?" 

"  No,"  said  James;  "it's  above  two  years  now  since 
I  saw  her;  but  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  it  now.  I 
thought  it  would  have  been  too  much  for  me  at  one 
time,  Mr.  Williams." 

"  I  was  desperate  angry  myself,"  returned  the  old 
man,  "  at  first;  for  you  see,  I'd  made  up  my  mind  that 
she  should  marry  nobody  but  you.  1  never  thought  of 
anything  else.  1  was  very  fond  of  you  both;  and  when 
she  really  was  married,  I  wished  "to  have  altered  my 
will;  but,  'Nay,  nay,  Joseph,'  says  my  master,  'thou 
shalt  do  nothing  hastily.  Know  something,'  says  he, 
'of  this  young  man  that  she  has  married,  before  thou 
blarcest  her :  I  hear  it  is  an  old  affection  on  both  sides; 
and,  more  than  this,  from  all  I  hear.  I  believe  him  to  be 
a  very  worthy  person.'  It's  hard  to  make  one  believe 
against  one's  will,  James;  I  took  a  dislike  to  Griffiths; 
but  dislikes  are  bad  things:  and  someway,  w  hen  I  came 
to  know  Griffiths,  I  found  that,  spite  of  myself,  my  dis- 
like was.gone.  He  makes  her  a  capital  husband,"  con- 
tinued the  old  man;  "he  is  getting  on  famously  in  the 
world;  why,  she  keeps  her  two  servants,  just  like  any 
lady;  and  then  he's  so  kind  to  all  her  family.  There 
was  her  brother  John,  the  poet  that  everybody  talked  of 
so  much— our  folks  were  wonderfully  taken  with  him. 


AND  A  HAPPY  MARRIAGE.  177 

Why, Griffiths  set  him  up  in  a  book-shop;  the  book-shop 
was  nothing  to  boast  of.  Master  said,  says  he,  'John 
Ford  will  never  do  any  good  in  a  shop.'  Well,  what 
does  Griffiths  do? — not  turn  his  back  upon  him  because 
he  wasn't  fit  for  trade,  but  gets  him  a  nice  sort  of  a 
post  in  the  customs,  or  something  of  that  sort,  worth  a 
matter  of  200/.  a-year,  where  the  work  is  just  an  ABC 
sort  of  thing,  and  John  can  write  his  poetry  and  read  his 
poetry-books,  just  in  his  own  way.  Why,  none  of  your 
lords  or  ladies  could  have  done  as  much  for  him.  Grif- 
fiths-has 4  way  with  him  that  makes  everybody  hii 
friend.  I've  beard  as  how  he  helped  some  great  member 
ot.  parliament  or  other,  who  was  fond  of  mechanics, 
to  complete  an  improved  engine,  which  he  could  not 
manage  himself,  and  which  now  is  like  enough  to  bring 
in  a  power  of  money.  '  Now  this  must  all  go  in  my  name, 
Griffiths,'  says  he;  'but  maybe  there's  a  something  or 
other  I  can  do  for  you.'  Griffiths  never  asked — not 
he — anything  for  himself,  but  just  a  little  sort  of  a  place 
for  his  brother-in-law;  and  the  next  week  Ford  was  a 
made  man.  Oh,  you'll  like  Griffiths — that  you  will, 
James,"  said  old  Joseph,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  It's  possible,"  returned  James;  "but  someway  this 
has  been  a  hard  thingfor  me,  Mr.  Williams.  Our  family, 
you  see,  was  very  friendly  with  the  Normacott  Lodge 
people;  so,  as  soon  as  we  got  back  to  London,  I  was 
sent  over  with  condolences  and  inquiries  after  health, 
and  such  like.  I  was  right  glad  to  go,  for  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  to  speak  my  thoughts  out  freely  to  Jane, 
It  wasn't  a  hasty  thing  with  me,  Joseph  —  not  a  bit  or 
it;  and  I  felt  it  all  the  deeper  on  that  account. 

"  It  was  a  month  nearly  after  the  fire;  but  no  sooner 
was  I  in  the  servants'  hall  than  they  began  to  tell  me 
how  a  young  woman,  they  called  Moore,  had  done  so 
much  on  the  night  of  the  fire;  how  she  had  saved 
everybody,  and  had  nearly  herself  died  in  the  fire;  how 
in  annuity  was  settled  on  her,  and  how  fond  every- 


178  THE  END  ov  MRS.  CASEY'S  PLOTg. 

body  was  of  her;  how  she  had  all  new  clothes  made 
her.  because  everything  belonging  to  her  was  burnt; 
and  how  ill  she  had  been,  and  was  not  even  yet  able  to 
go  out.  They  made  a  very  affecting  story  of  it;  and  all 
the  old  servants  sate  crying  together  as  they  talked  of  it. 
Someway  I  was  quite  impatient,  for  all  this  time  I  was 
wanting  to  see  Jane;  so,  as  soon  as  I  could  set  a  word 
in,  I  asked  after  Mrs.  Normacott's  maid,  Jane  Ford. 
'That's  the  same!' exclaimed  everyone — 'that's  the 
girl  that  did  so  much  for  everybody!'  Lord!  Mr. 
Williams,  what  a  fool  I  was!  I  could  not  for  the  soul 
of  me  help  crying:  never  did  I  feel  so  proud,  so  happy, 
or  so  soft,  in  all  my  life.  And  then,  says  they,  '  She's 
a-going  to  be  married;  her  husband  as  is  to  be  comes 
here  often,  and  so  does  her  brother :  she's  a-going  to  be 
married  as  soon  as  ever  she's  better,  and  Mrs.  Grafton 
gives  her  her  wedding  thinsrs.' 

"  I  needn't  tell  you  any  more,  Joseph,"  said  Kemp, 
after  a  long  pause;  "only  that  I  saw  Jane,  and  heard 
from  her  own  lips  that  all  this  was  true;  and.  though  I 
always  thought  I  loved  her,  I  never  knew  till  that  day 
How  dear  she  really  was  to  me !  I  said,  at  the  time,  it 
would  be  the  death  of  me.  But,  bless  me!  "  said  he, 
smiling,  "it  takes  a  deal  to  kill  a  body.  I  have  got 
over  it.  and  am  going  to-day,  Mr.  Williams,  to  do  the 
best  thing,  and  the  right  thing; — I'm  going  to  shake 
hands  with  her  husband." 

"  You're  a  good  fellow,  Kemp,"  said  Joseph  Williams, 
"give  me  your  hand! — a  right  good  fellow,  and  so  I 
always  said." 


TBI  2ND. 


A  LIST  OF 

NEW    WORKS 

IN    GENERAL     LITERATURE* 

PUBLISHED    BY 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 
346  &  348  Broadway,  N.  Y. 


Complete  Catalogues,  containing  J\dl  descriptions,  to  be  4u<t 
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Agriculture  &  Rural  Affairs, 

f.  ._..■.!  b  -•  i  al  Economy, 

I  >  i    iuUry  I5""k,  illustrated, 

.'»  EJturilnu  of  Agriculture, 

Jtrts   Mamrfactures,  and  Ar- 
chitecture. 


Appleton's  Dictionary  of  Mechanics 
'2  vols 

fcppleton's    Mechanics'   Magazine 
6  yuIk.  each, 

Allen's  Philosophy  of  Mechanics, 

Arum's  G-aliic  Architecture,  . 

Bassnett's  Theory  of  Storm*,  . 

Bourne  "ii  the  Steam  Engine,. 

Byrne  on    Logarithms,     . 

Chapman  >>n  the  American  Rifle, 

Coming's  Preservation  of  Health, 

Cullum  on  Military  Bridges,  . 

Downing'*  Country  Mouses,    . 

Field's  City  Architecture, 

is  Marin*  Architecture, 

Gillespie 'a  Treatise  on  Surveying, 

Haunt's  I'heory  of  Brulge  Construe 
lion.       . 

Henck's  Field-Book  lor  R.  R.  Eng 

fleers,    . 

H< lily's    Dictionary    of    Scientific 

Terms, . 
HutTs  Manual  of  Klectro-Physiolo 


*y. 


Jitters'  Practice  of  Naval Gunnery, 

KuH[>elt's  Mvchantes'   ArJsnjianL, 

Lafever's  Modern  Anlntrn'ture, 
LyeU's  Manual  -.1  Geology,.   . 

"       Principles..!  Geology. 
Reynold's  Treatise  oil  Haudrading, 
rem  pie  ion's  Meclianic>sCouipaainnf 
Ur^'s    Dict'ry   of    Aits,    Manulac- 

lures,  Ac         'i  v»ls.   . 
fooiiuuui'CIaas  Book  of  Chemistry, 
u       Atlas  ufChemistry.  cloth. 

•  AU'.liol,  .... 


B  ography. 


Arnold's  Life  vn  Corr--H[>ondeice  . 
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